The Nemesis Chronicles Part 1
by radiolover1029
Summary: Long ago, the King of Asgard and the King of Vanaheim made a deal. One which bound the Vanir King to surrender his one and only daughter to the All Father in hopes to prevent the dastardly future ahead. But will the path Sigyn is set on unlock the warrior within or awaken the very fears seen in far distant dreams? All actions are caused by a single ripple...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: How All Things Began

Like all stories, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. Or in the rare occasion, the ending is revealed with some plot smashed toward the end of the introduction without proper commentary of how it came to be. Or perhaps events that transpired in the middle aimlessly happen in random occurrences during the introduction with the ending as the beginning.

Already this beginning has the mind reeling. Thoughts are provoked and it wanders about the different creative pulses bridging to and fro the neurons. Electrical synapses snap and crackle to life: making new paths every millisecond.

Amongst this confusion, one must wonder, why start this way? What is there to gain with nothing but petty words and nothing to fill? What kind of literary device is this?

Then again, no one can perfect the craft oral storytellers have been forging for thousands of years. In all honesty, there are four words that can summon the setting, the mood, the inflection of what any author hesitates to submit.

Let us start from where none could race with questions and ideas. As all epic poets have sung:

Once upon a time...

... there was nothing but a gulf. Some recall it as a yawning gulf that went beyond forever. In a seemingly endless abyss of darkness and space, there was no earth, no air, no sea, and no life. Only the echoless, daunting doom of the gulf.

Northward of this impending gulf laid the Home of Mist. Like the spaces in between spaces, it was as dark and dreary. The only distinguishing feature was the winding river that never ran dry. It curled like a snake in the tall grass, weaving in and out until it met the bitter cold air of the gulf.

The impact of air and water bound together. Thin layers of fresh ice appeared. At first the shivering river trickled down in cold frost down the gulf. Then the air caressed the water enough to submerge the pile of water into full blown ice. Over the course, for there was no such thing as time, the water filled and froze at the same rate. The gulf was submerged into mountains of ice. The widening gap was maximized and met ground level to the rest of the space. And still the mountain of shimmering ice grew.

South of this mountainous frozen land was the Home of Fire. Housed in the burning flames was a giant guardian wielding a magnificent fiery sword. As he bantered it day in and day out to keep the magma flowing from the Home, showers of embers flew from the sword.

They escaped the heat of the Home of Fire until they landed upon chunks of solid ice. The dying flames partially melted away some of the ice, releasing bounties of steam clear into the space. Clouds of air mixed into the universe and created an atmosphere. As the partial melted ice froze over, it grew back stronger like hoar-frost: burning with a cold sting. It continued to spray sparks of fire, decaying and regrowing the mountains of ice. The continuing flow of ice and fire filled in the cracks and spaces of the gulf until it's presence displaced all over.

And from this cycle of cold and warmth birthed the Giant Ymir. The fire warmed the frame of a body but shielded a cold, cruel heart. Ymir looked upon the space of wasteland as his and his alone. So for the longest time, the malicious will in his heart froze even more. That was until a fateful thing occurred.

Some of the Home of Fire's embers landed upon forgotten and old ice, left separate from the now mountainous terrain. As spark after spark melted away, there revealed an icy covering of a shape. It wasn't until the last numb ice watered that the frame of a mighty man was revealed.

This was caught by the gaze of Ymir. He stared at the strange man and hardened his heart. The man came from warmth, embedded in frozen snow while he, greatest of all Giants, was created from ice and a bit of warmth. Deep in the cruel, watery veins of his being Ymir knew the sons of his to come and the sons of man shall be forever more, eternal enemies.

And so Ymir left man alone while he contemplated creating a great plan. Using the elements of which he was born of, Ymir created the ill at heart Frost Giants, modeling them with his cold hand. Each with vengeance coded into them. As the universe turned with tide, the time came, for when time was written down, when the great battle of the Frost Giants and the Sons of the Iceman came.

An epic battle of proportion landed in between the bridge of the gulf, waves of cold water commanded from the Home of the Mist and fiery cannons from the Home of Fire collided. One Son of Man set himself apart from the others. It turned the greedy eye of Ymir.

Odin, Father of All Things, with his brothers called war with the Frost Giants. Leadership and power exuded from the Man, something that sent a threat to Ymir. It was a final battle between Odin and Ymir that ended all things. All-father slew Ymir after a hard battle and from then, the Frost Giants were defeated.

The water in his veins flooded out in great amounts. His wounds poured out his life blood, drowning all the rest of his kin in cold blood. All but save one Frost Giant salvaged a mast and boat with his wife and sailed north to the edge of the world. To a plain where it was completely frozen over with no warmth and no kindness that was associated with the race of men. With revenge and chaos still left in this lone Frost Giant, Laufey, it would be he who would carry on the legacy of his brethren and create a new race of Frost Giants- ones that surpassed Ymir's experimentation. From henceforth malcontent and cruelty harbored inside him against the mighty Icemen and especially to Odin-Father who had slain his father.

While Laufey bore harsh winters and terrain cold to the core, Odin and his brothers emerged from the battle, victorious, Weapons once forged as destroyers in the hearth of the Home of Fire, were made tools to build forth a worthy Home for the Aesir. Climbing to top of all worlds, they discovered deep within the caverns of a volcanic mountain, a treasured land with edges of water spilt over like the never ending Mist River.

Odin proclaimed this new land, Asgard- home of the gods. A mighty fortress she was; gleaming gold and silver coins. The rich earth provided sanctum and life. Just below the heavens and magnificence.

It was in the Hall of Odin, where the All-Father made himself King, king of the Aesir and all the spaces the gulf contained. However there was a matter of all other branches the gulf connected. Misty it's paths were, nothing remained solid. Pondering, it was said Odin dropped a single green seed into the one lone space left in the gulf of which his predecessors crawled from.

Drunken from the ice's waters, the seed grew. It rooted deep in the fathomless pits, latched on, and rose far beyond the limitations of the universe. It grew marvelously like a trees, with branches extending towards the pockets of the universe.

Thusly Odin, son of Bur's son Borr, reclaimed this as Yggdrasil or "Tree of Life". It's highest bough hung over the Hall of Odin with a perched eagle guardian watching Yggdrasil's movements below. To it's trunk sat three Norns- caring seers of all fates. They watered and bloomed the tree at it's pool, watching over closely the monster gnawing and trapped within.

In it's center, laid an empty hole encased by the walls of the tree's theoretical bark. Odin's gaze shifted towards the emptiness, puzzled. Deciding to further the tree's growth, he made use of Giant Ymir's carcass. Out of his flesh he made Midgard, earth. For fear of the giant's wrath, the Asas plucked the gritty brow as the outer crust as a barrier between worlds. Grounded bones made the rolling hills, caverns, and mountains. His teeth, sharp and ominous, were the cliffs; grass and undergrowth made from his hair follicles, as well as the trees and bushes. Pale blue frost turned to lush, green foliage with the warmth of Odin's powers.

The Aesir piled bucket after bucket of his blood, that which drowned his brethren, and filled the blue, salty oceans. What was left of his skull arched as the sky's atmosphere. His last bit of life aura made the grey clouds, always churning. always moving like a spirit.

And from this giant-made world sprouted new like. Light, reflected from the pulsing veins of Yggdrasil, shone upon the earth. Content with this world, Odin and company slept in peace. However, of all the pockets this tree branched out to, only Asgard and the frothy land of Jotunheim remained full of life.

This was untrue. At the time of Midgard's inception, sprang dark, gangly creatures. They were full of malice and deceit; they hoarded their corrupt gold in caverns and filthy places where they lie. Of these trolls, goblins, and dwarves- they were cast away from rotting the fertile earth of Midgard by the mighty gods. Bottled up in the great iron nets of their captors, they fell on the darkest bough of the Tree. Where the blackest lights and woeful shades gather around in despair.

While the gods of the Tree believed the realm lethargic, the dark elves grinned at their surroundings. In one congregation all of the shadow creatures pillaged and mined the pitch black soil for jewels and precious gems. It was to their squeamish delight to find much rarer substances; ones that could not be found in their plundering of Midgard.

So they named this new realm Svartalfheim, of the swart elves and its half breed ilk.

When springtime came nigh near the shores of the giant rivers, fair and wise fairies and the good dwarves and brother elves transformed the blackened Midgard into its former glory before the Dark Elves Dwelling. The flying beings were said to be born from the falling petals of dying pastures and blossomed into its shape as the wind carried them off. They nourished the earth rich again. Spring came again. For their good deeds- gardening, replenishing, dethorning- they had the ability to move onto the next world. Their pedestal lied farther below their darker selves, just below the branch separating the world to Asgard.

Alfheim was given to the elves to perfect their magic and creations in a world so surreal and peaceful, it was second to Valhalla- the Heaven of Heavens. In the land of Eternal Spring, fairies rings were celebrated and happiness was as long as the days.

However the time of Midgard's bounty ended when Frost Giants slipped past Ymir's bony fences and blew chilling winds across the lands-almost a permanent tundra. As the Frost Giants settled in, the good fairies and elves saw their destruction. In many battles, the fairies fought against the Giants until they reigned supreme. At least for the few seasons until the Frosts Giants' ice became too unbearable to the fairies' rosy, delicate skin.

There is always raging war between the two. It is said if a man on Midgard waited in between the time of seasons, one could hear the cold, bated breath of the Frost Giants and smell the aspen scent of the elves just before ice met lithe vitae wands. Waging war was always to be expected. Although not as bad of blood between the Dark Ones and the Light Ones. But that is another tale not dedicated to the Beginning of All Things.

Odin strolled along the briny beaches of Midgard. Once more, he saw Midgard in all its glory and radiance (for it was just in the prime of the elves tinkering of spring). But it was empty aside from the plants and animals that flittered here and there.

He noticed two trees from a distance: an elm and ash tree. Odin passed breath on both. The spread branches lessened in stiffness and moved with the same nimble limbs and skin of his ancestors but much weaker. In the trees' place stood a man and his partner, a woman. All-Father gave the gift of speech and of the senses. King Odin named the man Ask, the woman Embla. Named after the trees they once were.

He taught them the ways of Midgard- how to grow food, to shelter against enemies and foe-like disasters, and most importantly the few stories of all the universe in hopes to pass the legacy of Yggdrasil's rich history son to son.

He bade farewell to Ask and Embla and Midgard for the time being for yet another Giant War was pressing on the Aesir's mind. It came to be over time, Ask and Embla's descendants grew with each generation. And soon Midgard wasn't empty anymore. It happened by chance that some sons or daughters were born of rare gifts. Ones that surpassed the abilities of the Light Ones.

Upon a better light, some of the Tree's life form dropped in dew amounts upon the brow of a child. Within the drop gave the power to see things to come, things that are, and have yet to be. Nine children of the time were given this grand Sight. Three were masters of chaos, three represented the organics of Yggdrasil, and three represented the visions pulsating through the Tree.

The Asas collected the chosen nine and took them back to Asgard. There, they were taught the ways of an immortal being, learned the ways of their powers, and shaped into what was to be Vanirs. Fearing their newfound strength would overpower the Aesir, Asgard housed the Nine until one petitioned for their freedom and their own dominion. All-Father saw the one who revolted, Iwaldi, to be pure of heart unlike others who stood against the Aesir. Iwaldi was the favored pupil of Odin and showed remarkable leadership qualities that rivaled the King.

By the staff of Gungnir, Odin allowed this to pass with the condition of Iwaldi to watch over the last realm of Yggrasil and an eternal forged alliance to surpass the Aesirs' worries. Iwaldi accepted with his remaining siblings as guardians and council of Vanaheim.

In the Hall of Odin, Iwaldi was changed to Vanaheimr, the King of all the Vanirs. Vanaheim, home of the Vanirs, served magic and the universal elements as it's compliances. Although the practices were not as friendly in Asgard, Asgard regarded the Vanirs' alliance beneficial and a progression of life everywhere.

In fact, it was the Vanirs who gifted their ever lasting gratitude to Asgard to help forge a magnificent bridge linking to all worlds. Tapping the veins of Yggdrasil itself, the Rainbow Bridge, the Bifröst, was created as a guide between the worlds. The power to wield the Rainbow Bridge was entrusted to Odin, who entrusted the guard Heimdall to watch over Asgard and peer his All-Seeing Eye over the entirety of the worlds for the sake and goodwill of Valhalla.

The last to be mentioned in the Beginning were the wanderings of the Homes of Mist and Fire. With the Tree of Life split in between the two, both homes curled down towards the roots. The Home of Fire, a bright, flaming, hot world in the southern region held the Fire Giants. Sons of the original Giant, Muspell, who took part of the gulf's creation. They harbored a different fiery passion than that of their counterparts- the Frost Giants. They lived in fear of the Asas and their rule. Surtr, ruler of the fire jötunns, was kept prisoner inside his own realm deep beneath the hot core of Muspellheim. With their ruler incapacitated, the Fire Giants worked along the coals as forgers of Asgard's weapons and to all others.

As the Fire Giants remained alive, the Home of Mist could not be said the same. The last of her kind, a goddess named Hel ruled over the deadened world of Niflheim- the entrance to all those who sought judgement after death and the beginnings of the cage of the black adder whose hunger never sated for fresh corpses. The Land of the Dead was the lowest level of Yggdrasil. Hel's dominion was too cold even for the Frost Giants of Jotunheim. All that died in the worlds were either honored in Valhalla in sweet paradise or damned to be frozen armies of Hel.

And so it had passed. The shaping of the universe from the first prose of the yawning gulf to the connection of life, became one of many stories Men had retold in grandiose measures. Of the culture passed by their tongues came the enrichment of their children and their children's children and so on and so forth.

However with every Beginning comes the End of All Things. As beautiful and poetic the Beginning regaled of its transformation from nothing to the systematic whirling of the cosmos and beyond, there must be in comparison a beautiful firestorm that destroyed its fabrication. Perhaps it would be destiny to intervene it or to aid its chaotic path. When there is life, there is always a an extremist force pushing against it. Whether its force be for good or bad, there is always a purpose to Yggdrasil's roots.

This epic story isn't informative, it is a narrative. One written by the Fates and their scrying waters at the base of the tree. There is nothing in the natural laws that can intervene in a Fate's prophecy. Its prophecy will steer the course of one demigoddess as time begins to fade- begin to end. Will it be her to stop the darkness decay everything in its path or become the the initiator to all destruction?

This is the End of the Beginning of All Things.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor, the characters, or the MCU. I do own my own character version and the plot twists.

AWOWADD 2

Chapter 2: A Victor's Path Dialogue

~ Vanaheim ~

In Norse mythology, the Vikings breathed their despairing prayers to what others consider the heathen gods. Ones powerful enough to send Vikings trembling to their feet; making proud soldiers into do-right cowards. The cosmos open their clouded windows and strike a mighty roar, piercing the hearts of women, children and men. The ashes of flesh greet these gods and sprinkle their remains in pyres across their own homelands, embracing the smell of joy, defeat, and victory at once. The thrill for a deity was never quenched and never will be. The thirst for a battle is formulaic: a blood lust hunger and driven by gut-wrenching adrenals.

As their hunger anticipates, as does the land of their worlds. Woods shift, mountains skirt to the side, oceans part, and lakes evaporate. The thunder belts surround whole cities followed by the electric rain. Fire and wind form and yet another battle is reborn from the ashes of men and immortals alike. The sign of the phoenix and the eagle signal the flags to lower and cannon fire to down.

This was the continuous unbroken cycle in Yggdrasil, the world tree.

At the top of this tree sits the heavens named right so- Asgard, home of the divine. On top of the edge of a world lake, its shining temples and golden establishments embellish the crown jewel of Yggdrasil. It was said, 'Asgard is a land more fertile than any other, blessed also with a great abundance of gold and jewels,'. Naturally from the mines of dwarves, but it held much mre than that.

The supreme, one-eyed ruler named Odin haled alongside with his wife Queen Frigga. Upon his majestic, Sleipnir, and his infamous spear of many killers called Gungnir, he was the notorious champion of other worldly politics and the elected god of war and its chaos. His fury chaliced an iron fist as well as the wisdom that surpassed all others.

His knowledge carved a whole branch of Yggdrasil and maintained a peace between the nine realms. The Vikings and other Scandinavians paid their homage every nine years at the Temple at Uppsala as a sign of recognition and tribute to the almighty guardians of the World Tree.

Aside from the heavens of Asgard laid one of equal value. In a different dimension, Vanaheim contains the Asynjors: gods of fertility, water spirits, shamans, healing, peace, wealth and prosperity, and death. Its King, rightly named after his realm, kept his peace with others while his people developed the methods of serenity and curative properties to all who deserved so. His wife, Freyja, a high priestess and goddess of beauty, ruled as Queen Mother to all inhabitants as she cared for each spirit and soul in her kingdom. But alas, the kingdom they ruled has weakened without an heir. King Vanaheimr tried all in his power to consult with the Shamans of Old for a remedy but none availed. All hope left was the steady breathing of prayers in the innermost temples next to their branch's core. When all seemed lost, a miracle was shown in the form of a tiny baby girl. Vanaheimr's heart softened and grew in rejoice at the sight of his daughter.

"My King she is small and precious as the pearls of the sea. And has your eyes," Freyja soothed as she held her baby in the drawing room. The open air sighed as if the world calmed down in the presence of an heir. The tufts of silver blonde hair beaded back and drawn to the side so she could see her child more clearly.

Vanaheimr stood off to the side gazing out at the balcony cove. His fists curled underneath the stone ledge. His brow scrunched in deep thought. Freyja looked back her husband expectedly. She frowned looking away not knowing if her King was angry. The silent, sleeping babe lay calmly in her arms. Her smile crackled like the fire at her feet.

"Is it not good you have a child Iwaldi?" she asked using the King's nickname.

He turned sharply, stepping once more into the drawing room. The halls were magnificent and spacious. Open light, air, and the soft breeze of water curled at the highest peaks. The whole realm welcomed water as most of was filled with salty waters. The lakes and oceans breathed life underwater and sheltered more than atypical animals one could find in Midgard.

He cleared his throat. "I am, Freyja. I am most pleased with our child," he said stiffly. He clutched the tri-spear headed staff at the rim of the scepter's jewel.

She corralled a brave notion and glared at him. "But you are not satisfied?"

He sighed. "I am only worrying for what's best for our world," he breathed deeply and sat at the throne-sized chair opposite of Freyja's ornate one.

She didn't give up her glare. "Child or not, she is yours Iwaldi. You should be grateful a daughter has blossomed within the branches of Yggdrasil,"

A hand covered his forehead. "I am most grateful. You will never understand my gratitude and the love I share for our daughter,"

"You're right," she said, "I don't," Her nose turned up.

His fists curled but his face never showed anger. It passed as soon as it came. "Freyja, I would never be disappointed in her,"

"Then what is troubling you?" Her tone grew as cold as the Balkans.

A solemn face shadowed the King's face. His face had weathered much over the years. He could be mistaken for the All-Father for his white, sea-beard inherited by his forefathers. His skin had tanned from the many adventures his crew took to sea. The scars he had formed haunted his dreams and ruptured his mind many a time. The visions from yesteryears and years to come never quite drifted as easily as the glaciers from the north. The Vanirs were known for their visions and passing wisdom. They live through pain and golden hoard of memories. Asgardians treasured the insightful dreams they held for generations. All the core messages of these dreams resulted from the veins of Yggdrasil running through when sleep doses them off.

"I've had it again, Freyja," he said rubbing his lined temple.

Freyja's mad expression paled. The ghosts of anger streamed past as new emotions rambled through her mind. "What? What is it, my Lord?" she cradled the child in her arms.

His eyes never left the child in his wife's arms. The sparks and lightning created drove him to madness. His watery cerulean eyes became sad and all the worlds seemed to have vanish from his priorities. If only his daughter were a son, the outcome would have been much different. But now he would have to be extremely cautious of their futures.

He still remembered wearily the nights of agony before his wife begun labor. The otherworldly destruction with massive sonic booms to erupt eardrums. His ears rung in pain as he winced. The King needed not to know of the fire and the metal crushing innocent lives or the swallowing gulf of darkness penetrating the Light. In the middle of it all he dreamt of a girl with pale golden hair as soft as the threads his mother once made- fighting and struggling to win. Shadows surrounded her being, sucking the rigid pieces of her darkened aura.

The King opened his eyes to a worrisome wife, clutching to her King's chest. He didn't seem to notice his fall off the chair or the bleak cold floor contrasting his warmed skin. Freyja gazed down at her newborn. She was asleep. Her blue eyes laid underneath her lids, save from her father's pain. The wisps of hair were swept back and her limbs twitched every now and again.

The Queen Mother's eyes scaled and lengthened like a frightened fish spotting the teeth of a predator. The whites of her eyes clutched on the image of her angelic child. Her hands wrapped her closer as if the water spirits from the east would snatch her at any moment.

"My child? By Vanir... No. NO!" Her voice nearly trilled. "I will not allow her to be left alone!" Her voice escalated pas the comfort zone of her child's ears.

The child squirmed and the Queen Mother immediately regretted her anger. She shushed her child lovingly. all the while the King sat in silence drifting off to the memories he would have to live through. His heavy breaths reverberated off the arched walls.

Freyja whispered, "She can never be alone. Whatever will happen won't happen," She felt determined but even she knew the consequences of temperament of the future.

The Vanir's regal aura stiffened. His wife would not meddle the future. Even it he did have the power to remove the dream, there was nothing to intervene it. "Freyja, you know the judgement," He pointed dangerously at her. "If the All-Father knew we were changing the courses of thread and time, we would not be here," he said, his voice like the comings of hurricane. "I will not allow our daughter to live in fear!" A hand slammed at the armrest of the throne.

"She will be a warrior and a great heir to Vanaheim,"

Freyja visibly backed away from the harsh words. They created a swift tension as thick as the fog barriers. "Then what will we do? I don't want her taken away when we just gotten her," Her tears were watering and ready to form an ocean of her own.

The King squared his shoulders, head high and eyes rigid. "Do nothing," he ordered.

That startled the Queen Mother. "Nothing" The word slapped her like the tail of a rowdy swordfish.

He had a plan in mind. one that could abate the terror in proper time. He would be risking life and limb. The ramifications would cost the worlds dearly should they fail. It had to be done. But would it work?

"She will have a great providence one day," he decided. The soft crinkle in his eyes returned. "She will learn to fight every battle with just as vigilance and determination. She will grow strong..." he said as he walked over to smooth a hand on her pink cheek. "She will be a strong one. Never will be weak,"

His wife leaned down to hold out her hand. The coo of her voice softened her parent's eyes.

Freyja asked tenderly, "But will it be enough?"

He stroked his wife's cheek in return. "She's already a legend in the making... Sigyn of Vanaheimr, you will prevail as victorious. Or die trying,"

And then Sigyn's eyes marked his words while looking back at the sea blue eyes he had given her.

Some time had come to pass. Though the watchers of time were precarious to not mention the hour to their King. The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. And all the time left in Vanaheim was simply left unaccounted for.

For something irked the King. It haunted him in his own halls- his own! The ones that were fortified to keep out the mightiest of all giants and earthlings of the deep. Walls that were constructed to bend light and create an infrastructure beyond magnitude, it was envied by Asgard. As their people believe them twins, one should never surpass the abilities of another. But that was separate in our tale.

Subjects bid their ways looking for their own solutions to crises. None bothered the King. All the while, he remained in the Hall of Deep, never too far away from his throne of his wife and child. He paced, ran circles in his mind, and dismissed the notion of celebrating the birth of his child. This was a private gathering and took up too much of Vanaheimr's precious... time.

It had gotten to the point where impressions were barely detected by passing servants. The Hall of Deep remained in a state of disbelief. Instead of oceanic trumpets hallooing of the acoustic ceilings, white noise deafened an aggravated ruler. Many a time his trident sounded off from the mosaic tiles with tiny sparks for effect as the lack of noise bothered him as well.

His mood continued to worsen far outside of the Hall. The storms offshore began to brew violently. Some dared to creep near the outskirts of the valleys.

It just happened to be on a stormy midmorning, the King sat on his stone throne, rubbing a paling hand over his beard. His punishment inside softened the weathered tan he accumulated over the years of reign. When was it last since he smelt the sea salt? Most likely when the season rolled around. Only weeks before his wife began labor.

Wife. Labor. Child. His mind sighed as the images returned. They seem to continue as snapshots on continuous loop. Curses under his breath were muttered.

The smooth handle of the trident brought him no relief as his hand increased its grip. No amount of pressure could destroy his scepter. But oh how lovely it would be to have it crushed for the moment. Pummeled like the porcelain skin of sand dollars in his mighty fist. His macabre sense of humor returned him on good will. Half of a laugh escaped his crusty lips. His other hand drummed on habit as his thoughts were temporarily disarrayed.

Then all laughter stopped on a dime. The arch of his back straightened with a sickening strain in his muscles. The fury of his eyebrow steeled his gaze as he stood up. He moved away from the steps of the throne, edging closer to one of the marvelous portholes big enough for a whale to enter at ease.

The sea stirred haphazardly. It curled along the shores, almost as if it were grabbing the sand to drag the waters out. A flash grew large over the water, making it a frightening violet. The wavelength of the flash seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then it spiraled from the clouds to the electric charge of the sea life. Its power should not have allowed the naked eye more than a moment's appearance. Yet the lingering feeling of dread and adrenaline pumped through the King- though it never showed on his face.

When the flash disappeared, darting behind equally dark, ominous clouds- the roaring sound of lightning echoed across the radius. Vanaheimr slapped a hand to the cold surface of the wall, feeling the small vibrations. The rough texture against his palm was cold on his warmth.

Bright flashes were not normal.

A cold, weary voice called from far behind him. "Vanaheimr," The voice exuded power and superiority. There was a moment where for a moment, the deep sense of primordial predator resurfaced in the lesser king. Old memories returned to the king. It was eons ago since he had felt like a boy caught by his elder. Perspiration began to form under the heavy golden crown he wore.

He cocked his head to the right, not formally addressing the intruder. "All-Father Odin. When was it last you stepped into the Hall of the Deep?" he said amusedly. His fingers twitched once more over the handle of the trident.

Odin clutched Gungnir in a way that resembled Vanaheimr to an eagle's talons around prey. His feet rested upon the steps closest his throne. Without a small smile to grace him in his Halls, he replied most casually, "Not since I had my one good eye, my friend,"

The absolute silence allowed the two to eye each other. As his pupil, Vanaheimr rather not remind either of them of his youthful days when rebellion was easy to summon. There wasn't risk back then. All the more reason now, to not start something here. Not with so much to bear on his mind.

Trying to remain the courteous one, Vanaheimr lessened the grip on his trident. He circled around from his post to the All-Father. He treaded carefully.

"How is Yggdrasil serving you this fine year?"

Odin's eyes wandered outside the window the king stood by moments ago. The weather had dramatically calmed down and travelled back to the west. "Just as well," He faced the aging man. He offered a free hand in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular. "The Fates have foretold another prosperous Age," It was then a small smile appeared.

Vanaheimr knitted his brows before grunted an approval. Figures, as much. Idle chit chat was not one for the King. Meaning it was not a social call. The King of the Asas had better role than to visit old friends.

He cut straight to the point, like a butcher selecting his cut of meat. "What bade you to come, All-Father,"

Odin, feeling the hostility, eased his hand back to his side. He paced to and fro. "Set ease to a weary man's mind, friend," he soothed. His eyes darted to the enormous doors he didn't bother setting foot through. By the looks of the intricate hinges, they could do with a bit of dusting and airing out. It wasn't what the doors or the hinges that caught the intense gaze of Odin All-Father. "There are sightings of jötunns breaking past their barriers," he said.

Like a ruffled, out of place owl, Vanaheimr's stature primed and preened his feathers feeling insults underneath false concerns. He said sternly, "Vanaheim has never seen a battle we have yet to lose. You know this well," He pointed at him.

Odin was taken back at the ferocity of his old pupil. Firm, but unyielding, the Asgardian brushed the end of his spear, Gungnir, against the floor. "Forgive me, friend. Defenses can only go so far," he observed the infrastructure once more. The sound echoed like the rumble of thunder against glass panes.

The veins in Vanaheimr's neck strained. Calmly, like the eye of a hurricane, he stated, "Perhaps your gaze should readjust to the giants of Surtr," He noticed Odin stiffen at the advice. He prodded once more, "They wreak havoc every moment in his prison,"

Odin's jaw clenched. His eye cast over a dark shadow in remembrance. He wrinkled his nose in disdain. "Better to have a strong, leaderless fight then one under poor leadership," he said ominously.

Vanaheimr strode towards his throne, falling footsteps receded in noise. As his robes rubbed against the back of his seat, he allowed his free hand to curl over the arm-stand. Jumpy fingers drummed across the cool edges.

He made a humorous sound. "History doesn't remember ones who have both lost in precarious circumstances,"

Odin-Father leaned against Gungnir as a third leg. "Let us hope none of us know this to be true," he said stiffly.

Vanaheimr's eyebrows knitted. A crusty gurgle escaped his cleared throat. "That remains to be seen," The low rumbles rolled down to the High King.

Feeling the thickness, Odin remained diligent and poised. He paced once or twice, eyes gazing anywhere and everywhere but his once pupil. They darted towards the opening. Skies fell in shades of purple and blue. His hesitance died as he craned his neck.

"What of Vanaheim?" The ambassador to Asgard rang. "Is she not uneasy," No movement from the Fisher King. A bronzed hand wafted to the sea breeze. It had deadened in all too short time. Eyebrows darted curiously to the silent king. "I see waters still; the wind has changed it's biannual course a season too early,"

All-Father dared to take a step forward. A step nearer.

The drumming from his hand ran rapidly, like one of the hai fish in the midst of capturing its prey only to slip away across the current. But Vanaheimr never showed weakness. The moment for truths is at a time one most be vulnerable. And vulnerabilities were like a delicacy to others. Biding their time to pinpoint an exact fail point. Whether it to weaken an enemy or a friend.

"It is most difficult, All-Father," He muttered into his beard. The grip on his trident lessened. For a small measure of time, the king had none to trust. Not the Vanirs, the Fates, his people, or even his own wife. His hardships troubled him to no end. Though the persistence of the Council and Freyja trickled annoyance and remorse on his point, it would only be his own doing to find clarity behind his problems.

He rested a hand over his weathered forehead. How long had it been truly since he sailed the seas? How long had he endured the sole company of his self in the blasted Hall of the Deep? When it was his sanctuary? No, he was just being stubborn. He can't abide for much longer. Even a King needed to bear and grin for help- no matter how degraded he felt.

He opened up, "Not even the shamans are at peace in the palace,"

The King of Asgard maneuvered closer to his comrade. The remnants of a long day and longer week was worn thinly like a cloak on Vanaheimr.

Not wanting to weaken a friend, he observed, "A sudden illness has wrapped around here,"

A hand cuffed around the arm-stand tightly as if it anchored him to his seat. His fingers twitched around the golden and blackened gems on his rings nervously, though never showing it as an emotion.

Playing it off, he said, "The healers are superstitious to the end. They never speak the unspeakable," He chuckled lowly. " You've heard them before. Muttering, 'what we fear is inconceivable',"

Then his face dropped. Half a frown appeared. He breathed heavily, letting go the bated breath he held since the nightmares. "I'm afraid for the sake of my people speaking of it under my Halls might allow such superstition to awaken that fear,"

Fear of the unknown. He never spoke of it. But it was known. Forever etched in the back of his memory he lived it nightly. His cognitive brain told him it was nothing but folly, but the heart... and the soul... Both cannot be as dismissive.

Odin caught these unspoken thoughts. He read them across the troubled man's face. The diminishing look in his eye was that of a commoner- a man. Not of a king with the brow of regality or the strength of thousands. The King in front of him was nothing more than a man of Midgard- struggling for power and might to that equal to a lowly lord.

This man, was not the Vanir he had trained nor should he ever be. Clapping a surprising hand to the King's shoulder, Odin offered the faintest of smiles.

"Then let us speak away from these Halls,"

The seas have shifted remarkably. On the elongated balcony the length of a legion of soldiers shoulder to shoulder, Vanaheimr slapped a hand to the rough edges of the balcony wall. His eyes crusted over to the spraying sea form rising from beneath them. The crash of a thousand waves echoed into his tuned ears as fresh air bit goosebumps onto his skin. The cords of muscles he accumulated tensed at the shiver, refusing to subjugate.

Oh, how he loved the sea. She was as untamable and unyielding as her master. Why, if it weren't for the devotion left to his Freyja, he would empower his own wife in the shape of waters, from different pockets of the sea. The amorous feeling of a good, sharp wind relieved him. Though the aching feeling in his soul did not lighten.

To his right, and with every intention to provide space, Odin marveled with him at the sight. His eye crossed the path of seagulls riding into the horizon. A sure sign night has begun to fall.

Vanaheimr licked the sea salt off his lips. Without so much as a turn of the head, he said, "Have I ever told you this is my favored place to be,"

Odin recollected his thoughts. "Not in the Hall or even at the Temple. Maybe it's the way I remember the shores of Asgard," Odin searched in his archaic mind the times when the Vanirs were housed. Such times they were. Vanaheimr sniffed in the air as if he could almost feel the bit of memory into him.

He sighed, hiding the small part of a smile from a ruler like Odin. A slight roll of embarrassment aroused in his emotions. "I used to always escape the barracks to sit on the beach... watch the rolling waves crash and recede,"

The humble mutterings of laughter filled part of the white noise in the absence of ocean life. All-Father leaned against the railing, amused.

"And you think I didn't know your wanderings?" Odin jabbed at the younger King. He kept himself upright. "Heimdall would keep an eye on you especially," He pointed at the taken back Vanaheimr.

It wasn't long before Vanaheimr could crack the smile. His eyes misted over as the rumble of laughter died in his throat. Reminiscent memories all too burnt over surfaced again. "Those were the days. Unfortunately one too many eyes have wandered too close to my family," He bit back the long sigh in his lungs.

It was only a matter of time before the Asgardian could diminish the wall his pupil delved into. Deeming himself an expert, he taught him how to do such a thing. Amongst others like nobility and strategies. If he had thought for a moment the student could undo the master, he was sorrowfully wrong.

Speaking plainly, he asked, "What ails you?"

An eye squinted into the depths. His lip quivered as utter pain washed into his eyes. His structure all but collapsed as more sea water enveloped the shallow rocks.

"My daughter," he whispered. A crackle in his voice. "My blessing," Worry lines etched his forehead.

The Asgardian King nodded fervently. "Your heir. And a proud one for a magnificent realm," he hailed.

Darkly, the shadows underneath his eyes grew. The emotions, running like a river, overwhelmed his character. Darkness like the winds of a hurricane swirled around him.

He muttered dangerously, "If she lives to see the end of my reign," He turned on his heel away from the King. Then it left as quickly as it came. His shoulder slumped. His head turned a quarter back to his companion. "My little one," he whispered as if she was the most precious thing Life had offered. "What is to come, what happens to her- will happen to all of us, All-Father Odin," His voice regained strength as his eyes darted to a curious Odin.

Like a boy on the edge of his seat, he wanted more than riddles. Odin remained stoic but inside his questions rattled.

He pointed. "You seek what lies ahead. Tell me, brother,"

Vanaheimr lifted a heavy breath. "I cannot," he said ruggedly. "The repercussions have already started to slow on me," Pruned fingers wavered near his temple. A hand reached at the balcony in a vice-like grip. His head dipped down as he squared his frame- trying to hold onto reality. The more he blinked, the more clearly he saw those nightmares. They flashed by, tormenting him.

"Odin, if she is to fall, Niflheim will not hesitate to open our gates," he said gravely. He turned back. He looked squarely in his eyes. A look of wilderness and fear came to him and seeped into Odin. "All gates," he muttered underneath his breath.

All-Father looked off into the distance, processing wild, rapid thoughts. The wheels in his head spun precariously. This was not personal, it was universal. The answers he sought after for, for the disappearance of a friend, for the changings of his surroundings, for diplomacy- all collided into one. The answer he got, was anything but rewarding. The punishment that burdened Vanaheimr dripped into him, slowly and without reason.

He knew what was to happen would come. But nothing like this. His gaze shifted to the horizon, wishing to see his people, his family, his home. What once gleamed bright like a beacon turned askew. He can never look upon the glorious sight of Asgard without the worries that his friend had aforementioned. He needed peace.

He stood tall like a lion on his pride. "What you speak of is treasonous," he warned.

Vanaheimr shook his head, frustration deep in his pores. "The Norns foretold it. If only they foretold a stopper," He resumed the damned pacing. Nothing eased his pace.

Like an eagle screeching at his younglings, he said, "It is against Law to intervene-"

Vanaheimr interrupted him, with the maddening eye of a corrupt king. "Do you think I don't know that?!" His blood-pumped face paled as the All-Father stepped forth with an unnerving hold of Gungnir. The Vanir stepped down and subjugated fealty. His anger surpassed him. The storm brewed elsewhere.

"Forgive me, All-Father," he prayed to his feet. "My actions are caused by a father's temperance and love for his young," His eyes darkened as he pleaded with Odin.

Odin unclenched a fist and held it out in front of him. Not like a beggar for bread, no- as if all the life in him depended on this choice. "Let me see," he stoned.

Vanaheimr did not hesitate. He linked forearms together and flooded all emotions and stress pent up over to the forged link. Everything replicated inside him and using his gifts only intensified the emotions he did not wish to fill. The exchange remained quiet on the outside. But on the inside Odin gained clarity. He did so every time he was graced with a Vanir Sight.

This was much different. The mightiness left him. The superiority he built from the bottom escaped. The vision shredded all bits of his self away and left him weak and vulnerable to anything he wished to see. Oh, the Sight. Only few could have marveled at any Sight. The darkness, the light, the aura of colors and perceptive depictions between particles of light and color intermixed much like the Bifröst- if the Bifröst's purpose had ever darkened.

Then he was granted entrance. It felt like eons; slipping away into the abyss. The horrors that only Niflheim should hold unleashed upon him and the passengers around him. He stopped as in his travelings.

The connection disengaged.

It was only a taste of what the Vanir King faced.

"Hmm," Odin recomposed. The hold on Gungnir was replicated like his companion- gripping onto reality. "Dark days are upon us, indeed," he said ominously. He felt the slightest feeling of disorientation. He overcame it as the power of his wisdom triumphed it.

Vanaheimr slunk back to his place on the balcony. He growled lightly, "You would let me endure this? To suggest I allow the daughter of mine to weaken-"

"But I'm not," he interrupted. Odin thought and thought again. In the shortest time between words, it was just enough for him to go over all his careful plans only to scratch them out looking for new ones. He happened upon a lone idea- an idea, mind you. It was thoughtless, unreasonable, and chaotic.

And yet Odin King could not help as he thought again, to return back to the idea.

He held a hand in silence. "You say you fear for her weaknesses. She needs to be trained, most wisely," he said adding to his idea.

Vanaheimr slapped his knuckles against the strain in his skin. "I've already counseled the Nine Vanirs. They've all agreed to progress her training when the time comes,"

Now frustration pent up in the Asgardian. There was more than one solution to any problem and he could feel the stubbornness climax between the two kings. He slammed the staff in his hand against the cool floor, leaving a permanant etching and burn.

He said threateningly, "By Valhalla, every moment we waste is a moment too soon to the desolation," Then Odin leaned back as he realized Vanaheimr smirked and laughed at the older one. He rolled his hands together, clapping them. His trident against the balcony moved back to his hand. He pinned the trident down in a similar fashion.

"I've wasted none, Odin," he said stoically.

Odin thought aloud, "Asgard,"

Bemused, Vanaheimr lent an ear. "What of Asgard?" he demanded. Tensions of lately were not welcoming to Vanaheimr nor his land. It would do no good to result in this treaty of sorts to Asgard. The mere mentioning of it worried the father in him. He knew what was intended but refused to acknowledge the inevitable.

Odin chose his words carefully. "Her sanctum,"

The words resided on his tongue like snake venom. "On Asgard?" the Vanir King asked in disbelief.

He undermined his pupil, "You said you wished her safe passage. I offer you a way out,"

Vanaheimr growled. "Yes but I never would have envisioned a home going," he seethed. "Not when Freyja and I just had her," he said pointedly.

"It is the only way,"

It shocked Vanaheimr. Him, a Vanir, a child of the gods, the gift of Yggdrasil's blessing was thought to be weakened? He stifled. His nose turned upright. "Asgard's protection is the same here. What makes you think she'll be any safer there?"

"Do you wish my help?" Vanaheimr clenched his jaw; veins threatened to protrude. With a sigh, he continued, "Then she'll train along with my sons. To fight and learn from the Asgardians the secrets of battle," The plan flowed. It molded together coercively. "We cannot interfere, but we can prevent the undeniable," He nodded his head.

Vanaheimr's trident fiddled in his fingertips. His eyes widened. "Freyja will not stand for it,"

Odin muttered lowly, "She will if she wishes to see her daughter to survive! Convince her,"

There was no escape out of this. The Vanir knew it. Once something stuck in his mind, Odin would do everything in his power, the King of the Asas, to maintain the promise straight and true. No matter how corrupted.

Vanaheimr snorted. "She won't disobey the word of Odin," he resounded. He remembered the beauty of his wife once caught both eyes of Odin in his courtship with Frigga. She would have done anything for the Asas eyes to more than linger. He let go of the past temporarily.

He had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. "But you must swear. Swear on Gungnir. Swear that her well being will come first," he demanded.

The Asa did not visibly stiffen but the smirking Vanir knew it troubled Odin to no end. But what he didn't expect was the staff of Odin to be horizontally held out front, facing the Vanir. Waiting.

He thundered, "I swear. For the sake of all. And herself," The hint of fresh rain could be smelt. The beginning of a thunderstorm was underway.

He darted his eyes to the one eyed King. "Ease my mind further. When," A snarl of his voice appeared.

"I would not take her away when time is too precious for you and your wife," He nodded in acknowledgement. He looked to the sky. The curvature of Heimdall called for him. In his mind eye, the honored guard slung his sword into the Bifröst's switch, engaging the observatory. "I shall return for her when Frosty-Mane of the Night chariot and Shining-Mane of the Day chariot cross paths once more,"

Vanaheimr saw the sunset across the waters. Its head dipped into the sea, extinguishing the flame. Odin resumed, "Only then will I come for her. With haste,"

A hand mangled through his beard. Much has happened between Vanirs and Asgardians. They fought, they bled, they learnt everything. Together and apart. Harmoniously and haphazardly. Was it a time of peace-making Asgard had arranged for? Or one of perpetual doom?

Could it be done? Could Vanaheimr entrust the single most important treasure in his existence over to the demands of a wise King? Could he? But if he didn't it would question all the years of alliances they fought to keep with the bay of their peoples ever so forcefully knock down.

He took a leap of faith, blindly. He pricked his finger on the iron of the trident. Blood began to form into a drop. He stepped forth and placed the single droplet on the spear of Gungnir, sealing his decision. Binding into the spear, the blood trailed until piece by piece the liquid bubbled and evaporated.

Upon its disappearance, Vanaheimr looked beyond. "We have an accord," Silence was met upon the lesser king. The inner turmoil inside, battling for release was through wit diplomacy and tattered hold of friendship. He wanted out. Away from the Hall, and with the two people he needed his strength from.

Before Vanaheimr could walk away without so much as a care whether manners mattered, Odin scrapped Gungnir across the floor.

"One more thing," Vanaheimr's head cocked but never looked back. "When I return, she cannot come back... until she's ready,"

Silence thickened. The tension cooled rather oddly. Instead of the usual temperament that came from the Vanir King, he relinquished.

"Do you swear on your part?" Odin demanded more than asked for an answer.

The stiffness in Vanaheimr's voice roared to life. He prodded the trident. "If you excuse me. I believe my daughter needs me," he growled before storming off, leaving anger and sea storm a league away forming.

In an instance Odin vanished. He returned to the safety of Asgard. As he returned and was greeted by the Asa, Heimdall, only then did All-Father truly accept the gravity of the situation. This was never about pride or boastful natures. Vanaheimr's vague message cleared from the abnormalities.

Odin-King realized that he was never the victor in their accord, the controller.

He was the target.


	3. Chapter 3

AWOWADD 3

Chapter 3: The River's Flow

When the Queen's duties were lax, she'd rather lounge around her vanity chambers. Draped in lavish fabrics across the room, it's colorful presence soothed her as chambermaids attended to her beauty ritual. The finest silks weaved by talented Light elves decorated the plush seats. Designs of golden thread and artistic eye for beautiful things were specifically made for the Queen and her ladies. They fawned over new materials and set to work to find a place in the vast collection of pretty things.

It was early but not late enough to rise for the midmorning meal. So her ladies took it upon their flimsy natures to bathe their Queen in oils and scented waters in her hair. They dressed her hair intricately; sending deep waves that made any sea-siren envious to have. Next, they clothed her in five sets of linen dresses- all different sizes and shapes that expressed the voluptuous curves she barely worked hard for to attain. Without word, she flitted a hand to a light tannish colored one, with a slit opening up the chest and leather strappings across the flat of her stomach. They added jewels of arm bracelets, dripping like melted stars from afar and kohl lining accenting her hooded eyes.

When Freyja felt confident in her ladies' work, she dismissed them to prepare their own beauty treatment, leaving her to gaze in wonder at her reflection. She grabbed a bejeweled hand across the oak wood surface. Her hand curved around the fabric of a scarf barely holding onto the furniture. She waved it around herself, adorning it lovingly across her neck and forehead. She giggled passively before allowing it to drop to the floor.

In her solitaire she played with coronets made of gold leaves and smoky perfumes exotic to their lands. It all amused her in the morning-time: perfecting herself.

After all, she had to remodel her whole look with the water weight she retained from her pregnancy. Though her vain nature kept her to looking glowing and the envy of all other women slaving in their labor, she managed to double the curves of her hips with her daughter. Motherhood suited her and her precious gift only Fólkvangr could have granted her.

And what a mysterious gift she was presented. It was without a doubt in her careless brain whether her child would obtain the good genes of her parents. But seeing her for the first time- all pink and wet from her flesh melted her more than any beauty routine. She dove into her daughter, priming her and propping her into the girl she once was. It brought new purpose to Freyja. Alongside her dubious chore as Queen and presenting herself like a proper one, she had a tiny creature all that belonged to her to dote upon.

But my, the years do take hold. Already time began to wane on the days she played with Sigyn. Closer were the watchful nights.

Oh how she dreaded those nights. Cold and dark, unappreciated. Nothing came good from the dark. There was no beauty, only dankness and decay. Freyja thought nothing else of it.

When it came to surface of her daughter's fate, there was a deeper hatred to the night. Darkness always stole the light away from others. It rooted people's fears and shrank gods into mere mortals. How could something so unfathomable, so horrid steal something as pure and wonderful from the womb of the most beautiful of the goddesses? It must have been jealousy. Something lurked in the darkness that must have wanted her, a relic to model off, a prize to be won. There was no other explanation. Or at least that was brought to Freyja's mind.

She had her share of jealousies thrown at her. To the extent of near execution even. But that never stopped her from achieving what she wanted. She worked too hard and too long to go back to the lowest pedestal and receive all their mockeries.

Freyja's mind drifted. She nearly crushed the glass containing lucrative waters from the Sirens as a wedding gift. Though she hated the thing, yet another reminder of her ugly past, she kept it as a token of how far she had climbed.

Years later, here she was - dazzling at her radiant self with a kingly husband and a child beyond perfection. She sheltered away those frightful nights for the warmth of a hearth in the niche she liked to sew in. She liked to thank the goodness of her life at these few times when she was alone, far from the dark halls. In her own Hall of Fólkvanngr, she spent time reflecting over her tapestries she created. Depictions of love scenes, battalions, questings each sewn by the thread and thimble of the Queen. It was a gift of hers. Besides her unnatural gift of beauty, she was bestowed the gift of beautiful artisan crafts.

Once a day, she sent away her ladies and serfs out of the Hall to work on her current masterpiece. At the end of the year, she presented all of Vanaheim at the grandest festivals to display the year's progress.

This year, she wanted to sew in array of colors the years she spent with her child. In her mind's eye she imagined the fabric to hold pictures of her still in the womb, her birth, the ages following, and a grandiose model of what Freyja could only hope she would turn out to be.

It was proven to be difficult as she took up the thread and tapestry fabrics. The last piece of the puzzled was the image of a fully grown Sigyn at the bloom of womanhood. Freyja thought and thought again. The Mother in her couldn't understand why she can't see the face skin pulled back, the muscles corded under skin, or even the full shaped lips of Sigyn she would no doubt inherit from her mother.

Time was running short. The festival would be held for the first time without Sigyn. Her departure brought weariness, an unknown fatigue for the Queen. She set down her unfinished work and once more looked in the mirror for some recognition of her child. Would she mirror her when she was away? Would her curls flatten like her father's? Would her body become lean or curvy? Would her smile remain the same?

The Queen in the mirror shivered at the racing questions. She slammed a jeweled hand down as her eyes narrowed at herself. She gripped the vanity tightly. Her gaze poured over her features before closing them.

She saw her child the first time the princess could see all her firsts. Word, ball, run, dress, fall, and giggle. But whenever the past encroached, she was blocked from the future. It frustrated the Queen. So easily she had given up progressing her year's progress. She was stumped.

She had gotten off track. Perhaps another face cream would relieve her. Forget the tapestry until later. The line on her forehead deepened.

"Mistress! Mistress!" A frazzled voice was heard from behind the doorway. The Queen sighed, smoothed back her face and skirts before waving a hand for the doors to open.

At the entry, a rounded woman with thick peppered hair pulled back into a short white linen cloth, plain charcoal cloth with a white apron fidgeted. Her platform sandals shuffled in nervously like a sketchy mouse on the lookout for a cat.

The governess, Frajonora, served the royal family for years. She was first held onto the position of wet nurse, as the Queen was too focused on the shape of her figure and duties of a monarch than to juggle a baby as well. She was a loyal woman to the end but with a stubborn nerve of a trait that allowed the little tyke to pull rank on her to get her own way.

Frajonora had aged well in advance after the first years of managing her. It was evident with the bustling line of sweat upon her brow and the weariness of her aching bones. Tethering back and forth racing after her young mistress put a number to her age.

Her breathing hitched as she coughed out a side stitch. The Queen rolled her shoulders back, moved her bust line and settled the woman down on a seat mat. When the woman's heaviness lifted, she bowed her head to the Great Lady. Her frazzled state left her mutterings to ramble underneath her breath, going faster than Honir in a chase.

She braced the woman. "Calm yourself, Frajonora," The sudden order silenced the aging governess. Her pudgy fingers trailed over her flushed cheeks, reminding herself of her place.

"It's the Little Princess!" she started. Her exasperation took most of her breath away a second time. "She's at it again!" she bemoaned.

Freyja sighed heavily, taking the brunt of the hit immediately. The line on her forehead furrowed.

Once more, Sigyn disappeared from sight. She neglected her duties so as to play and wander like any other child. Though Frajonora deserved the scolding for losing the princess for the umpteenth time, Freyja stood up. The billowing skirts trailed behind her. She floated towards the knob of the door.

Without turning back, she already knew the woman serf was dry sobbing her failures and kneeling for penitence. She said, with a bored inflection, "Take me to her. I shall deal with her myself,"

The woman picked herself up and wobbled to lead the beautiful lady through the door. The airy lights from the Hall of Fólkvangr dimmed upon the closing. Freyja internally shivered at the sudden shades of darkness. Though never showing it, her inner self she buried deep within scurried frantically for a door to shine upon the smirking shadows.

Frajonora never acknowledged her Queen's persistence to move along, she was too worried about the current status of her position.

The tide was coming. Outside the palace walls, where safety lied heavily in numbers and scores inside, the Queen fidgeted across the dirty sand. She spotted a lone girl, wild and common, hunched over in the pools too close for comfort to the rocky shallows. Her bare feet resounded across the wet stones as she hopped to and fro until she balanced herself on a smaller boulder.

The Queen gathered her skirts in her hand as she maneuvered around the wetter dunes. Her head snapped to her child as she heard a small noise. Familiar and almost welcoming, the dubious sound of magic bounced in colors and light over the crash of waves. As if she were a magi performing street tricks for peasants, she concentrated her efforts on something the Queen couldn't see.

"Sigyn, it's not proper to display your magic unsupervised," Freyja's figure shadowed her child.

In the middle of her crouching state, Sigyn's pale finers skimmed over a smooth, rounded sand dollar. She clutched the treasure over the surface of the water; the prickle of magic doused over the white shell to a hue of pink. Her doe-like eyes widened at the grace of the Queen.

It was uncharacteristic for a woman donned in the finest silks on her creme skin to walk through wet sand near the tumultuous shoreline. Though a trained woman of a regak house, Sigyn could easily point out her mother's insecurities as her sandals fidgeted in the sinking sand and her fingers ached as the sea breeze was blowing her golden trestles carelessly.

The little princess held the shell closer to her, acting as a guardian. She was a curious creature - closer to the edges of the wild imagination than the pillars that towered over her. But that didn't mean she was immune to a scolding back to reality. The strands of her hair flew out of her braids Frajonora slaved over.

Her hair didn't bother her; she knew her Mother's skin would be crawling if the same were said for her.

Acting the picture of innocence, Sigyn stood up, fixed the wrinkles in her skirts, and held the drying shell in the palms of her hands. The Queen stepped back, afraid of the harmless gift. Sigyn saw the small part of her Mother that use to adore the sea's waves and run her toes across the hot sand. Then it shrunk back inside and left the diamond studded skin of a Queen.

After all, she had a duty to her subjects and husband. She couldn't be caught; not with the changing of the seasons so soon. With the sun's rays moving everyday closer to the moon's pull, Freyja would find the single worry line on her forehead deepen further. No matter how much lotions or home remedies her ladies sought out for, nothing could vanquish the one flaw. Frajonora believed it to be the line every young mother is gifted with - a symbolic care of one's child. The Queen loved her beautiful little girl, but that didn't qualify to burden her with a line in the middle of her forehead.

Sigyn looked down fondly at the object in her small hands. "Oh Mother, it's just a sea shell," She showed off those pretty teeth. Every oyster would swim backwards to have the pearly white wonders in either girl or woman on that beach. The Vanir princess sat promptly on her bottom, stowing it with the other collections she found earlier much to her Mother's dismay.

Her Mother's lip quivered into a small smile. Rarely she had anything left to smile as the watchful nights closed in. She looked once back and twice around the shoreline. Once she was reassured none of the guards or any of the Council were near, she lifted some of her skirts and readied herself to sit by drier sand banks. She sat a considerable distance away. She bundled the lengthy fabrics behind her as her bare legs felt the scratch of hot grains rub together. She winced and gave herself a moment to relax wit the sand.

Sigyn's youthful eyes widened as the lack of posture her Mother had. Her back curved for possibly the first time in front of her and the position she sat in was no one a noble woman would have done. It simply astonished the child. Feeling jovial, young Sigyn moved closer to her, dragging along the many coral rocks, shells, and sunken tokens with her.

Tide was coming in. Minutes ago that would have edged the Queen to run inside the secured palace walls so as to not let the clothes to stain. Slowly, she readjusted those nerves to welcome the sea breeze that wafted the hot sand from beneath her. All the while she played with Sigyn's natural curls. SHe untied the bonds from the bottom and let the wind to form their own style. Sigyn, content, showed each treasure to her mother before setting it in a separate pile and moving to the next one.

But she always kept going back to the shell. It was faded pink and grew lighter around the outline. Inside the pale pink was reflected through opaque light. With the help of her magic, she practiced different colors like the sea green pigments and an exaggerated mix of red and sky blue. The shell was large enough to thread it on sting and make a necklace, Sigyn revealed to her how she wished to do so and keep it as a remembrance of the last good day before autumn came.

"Sigyn," Her Mother interrupted the girl who went off a tangent. She cupped a hand around a clump of sand. "Everything has a life force," Wind carried off the sand. "Changing something defers the ways of things,"

Sigyn's head dipped down, feeling the guilt in her Mother's throat. She used a finger like a brush and painted magical traced across the shell. Swirls of blue and white embedded the shell.

"But I liked it better when it's blue," she whispered, eyes narrowed.

The Queen waved a hand. Instantly the deep splatters of young magic left and the original pinky coral returned. Sigyn surrendered the plain shell to her. Her Mother sighed. It was never her intention to take away a plaything, but it was a lesson that needed to be taught.

Magic was highly unpredictable - especially in the early stages. It was ordered by the King for the princess's studied to be strictly under core curriculum. For her protection, her instructor prohibited the use of magic outside of instructional time. Sigyn learned the hard way that her rebellious streak, like a sea stallion, needed to be broken in.

How cruel she thought of it. Freyja was never forced such terms. It was in their customs. So it only brought more misery in the House of her child, gifted with the graces of the gods without freedom to express them. The Mother in her relentlessly wanted to push the Queen in her aside. But priorities were made and protecting her only child came first. At least, that much was made clear all those years ago by her Father-King.

"Sigyn," she tried once more. "You should never change an appearance for your own purposes. If it was meant to be coral, it was meant to be coral,"

Mechanically, Sigyn nodded. Her small frown widened those large cerulean eyes. They crystalized over with a loss of their usual sparkle.

She murmured, "You're right, mother,"

She shrugged away from the Queen's side. Sigyn hunched her shoulders over her knees, chin dipped down. The waters churned as tide began. The sound crashed like percussion, loud and present. It filled the void when the Queen gazed down for several minutes studying her daughter.

While she remained poised and attempted dignity, her daughter slouched and seemed feeble. If she didn't know better she would have guessed the child was like a burrowed clam. Her cold skin looked pale and dotted with wet sand. The sea wafted air to tangle in her hair. She wasn't in the presence of a princess. She looked nothing better than a child in the dirt roads.

Feeling uneasy she summoned some maternal feeling to soothe the sorrowed child. Sigyn looked to her Mother, but she faced a Queen. In some sorry attempt, she caressed the strings of hair flying above her.

"What's set you into a mood, little one?" She smoothed them back. The child cradled herself further in. She eased her tone. "You're suppose to be at your lessons,"

The word struck the girl in recognition. It curdled in her mouth. Lessons. It boiled underneath her skin. She remembered the long haul of instructional time reading practical theories and only using the modules for magic. Her hands ached from the writing when they should be tingling from the sparks illuminating from her fingertips.

Sigyn flicked a pebble crawling towards her big toe. "All I do is lessons and work. I never get the chance to see my friends," Her finger pointed to the water. It maneuvered like a trail of snakes. Then the trail ended as it was soaked into the earth.

With nimble legs, she hopped to the shallows. Pods of small fish swam routinely across the many shoals, corals, and the grainy bottom. She poked a finger down to stroke one of her friends. It prodded her finger, sucking for any bit of food, then swam itself off to the near school of fish.

She giggled as one flapped its dorsal fin intricately. "The animals are lonely sometimes,"

Freyja inched forward. She graced a smile. Playing in the tide pools reminded the Queen how being a child was the best beauty remedy. Every child, at least the ones she encountered, owned a beautiful-like quality. They were all peaceful, carefree. Free of judgment...

Freyja never enjoyed those qualities. Not until her gift was given eons ago. Before then she wasn't given the privilege to enjoy others company as the children of Midgard were of a brutish nature. Never to play pretend or wander the plain lands so easily like the others.

And now history repeated itself through her daughter, the prize of Vanaheim, the jewel of all daughters. What hope was there left? Empathy flooded through her veins. For the moment, she forgot the skirts, forgot the ornaments, forgot the black markings on her skin as the water lapped at her feet.

"I always admired your spirit," she whispered closely. "But these friends of yours must understand that you are a young princess-in-training," she said pointedly.

Sigyn's eyes looked up. They sparkled as her mother touched the youthful pad of skin on her cheekbones. "They have responsibilities just as you do,"

She moved her hand to corral the separated fish and then set it free. Small trickles of bubbles floated to the surface.

Sigyn popped some of the larger ones. "I doubt it," she said depressed.

Freyja wrinkled her brow. She scoured for something to lighten both of their spirits. Using impromptu, the mother searched hard at the ocean- praying for an answer.

Though tide was in, the movement of the waves still crescendoed against the damp rocks. Some heaved over, spilling its waters on the already soaked boulders whilst others remained as sea foam. Its spray leapt into the air only to dissipate into the air.

Her trained eye glowered at a particular pod of waves. They bent backwards, going against the flow of water. Freyja set a hand forth into the sand, ever leaning forward with bated breath. Her mind's eye delved deep into the horizon, glazing each particle into a macroscopic view.

"Watch," She entranced the child's attention. Her manicured nails, primed and polished, pointed vertically to the pod. "See how the hval fish move. Their tails bend and shape the currents underneath," Sprays of foam hoisted into the air to backflip and recede. "Without their movements, there would be no tide,"

Her cat-like eyes spotted something closer to home. She dipped a forefinger into the water and a dark blue ink formed. It trailed and curled over and under shells and fish. Then it wrapped itself around a stem of a coral bed.

"And flyndre pods sweep away the old corals to allow new growth to form for new families. You see," She demonstrated the inky trail to break a piece off, releasing small air bubbles. A baby flyndre watched the dead end sink before it made use of its hollowed cave for its own personal use.

Sigyn grew red around the collar, cheek for embarrassment and guilt. "I guess," she sighed. "It seems much fun then learning about Mimir," She waved her hand into the water to play with her mother's magic ink.

The maternal mother returned as she caressed her child's soft curls. HEr whispers floated down to her, soft like a feather. "One day you might find knowing about the things you learn be useful later,"

Sigyn puckered her face up as though a thought had struck inside her head. "Mother, why can't I go to the villages outside the gates? I hear they have wonderful festivals. Once there was a fairy performing the Ring! A real fairy!: Her excitement no longer caught in her throat. She exuded every inch of a carefree child.

But her Mother saw the sudden switch of her mood rather odd and slightly welcoming. Many before there were fairies from other worlds on progress. They flit and flutter to merchants and towns filled with the sea brine and air (for that is a fairies' second nature). They sell their fare goods and entertain the masses with swirled orbs and the sweetest nectar drinks on this side of the Bifröst. It only brought fond memories to the Queen, when she too played with the Fairies' Ring.

Freyja opened her eyes in sheer surprise. "A fairy? She must have been preparing for the new season," She curled her fingers in her air, letting then ring around and spill out her dainty hand.

Her child bobbed her head up and down, hoping to strike a positive with the Vanir Queen. "Oh yes, but I wish I could have seen her and ask her questions about Alfheim," Her eyes glazed over in her dizziest daydreams. Thoughts of their vitae wands or their magic cloaks they weave from magic silkworms native to the rarest meadows. Or she could ask about the Fairy Five or the Elder Council the ways they transformed the mountains on shore into striking fjords.

While she amassed new questions, new theories, and all the wonders of the annual festivities, Freyja looked beyond the shoreline, to the sea wall. A thousand mighty warriors atop couldn't have surpassed those walls. They were built to surround and protect the treasures within. Even the eons of age still haven't managed a single crack into its frame. Not even against Asgardian warriors.

She lowered her voice, cradling her child's right shoulder. "Sigyn, you know why you can't leave the gates. There are many things in the world you aren't prepared for. They can hurt little princesses like you,"

Her face crackled like a dying wisp of flame. All wanderlust vanished. She straightened her tunic and straps as the breeze made gooseflesh. She shielded Sigyn. "We are protecting you because your Father and I love you. You're our little leaf,"

"I've only been outside a handful of times and that's when we have summer progress,"

Freyja wished to distract the depressed girl. But nothing popped in her mind. Then she spotted the princess' sea collection. Amidst the many trivial toys, there was a conch shell. Pretty in pink with a sprinkle of fairy gold yellow, it coiled around perfectly. The shell looked smooth like polished glass.

Out of instinct, the mother picked it up and placed it in the child's small hands. It engulfed her palms and some of her fingers. The Queen placed a finger to her own ear, motioning for her to reciprocate. She nervously sheltered her ear next to the slit opening after checking for any crustaceans.

Softly, Freyja asked, "What do you hear?"

She huffed as her lip dipped down. "Nothing?"

The Queen shook her head. "Listen closely," Sigyn pressed the shell to her ear once more. "Can you hear that little whisper? Behind the waves?" She watched as Sigyn's eyebrows knitted together, not of frustration. She nodded after a few tense seconds. The Queen smiled. "That's the voice of Yggdrasil. The inner spirit that fills the universe. It's voice can be heard to those who listen intently for answers they don't know of yet. Take a moment and ask a question,"

Her eyes gleamed in anticipation at the thought of it. "Will I ever travel the universe?" Her excited whispers echoed in the tiny spaces. She pressed her little ear next to the slit of an opening.

It might have been hours or moments as she waited ever so patiently for a sound, a whisper, a gentle soul to her ear. The Queen exercised concern as she watched the bated breath rapidly quicken to anticipation, then satisfaction. She used no such magic this time. It was too late by the time the child's patience wore thin. But this... the Queen could not see how she might have heard anything but the rolling of waves unless...

"Yes!" she exclaimed. She reprimanded herself as she paused intently. "When?" she asked fervently. As she closed her eyes to return her back to the magic, she scrunched her nose. Freyja looked at the shell in curiosity than to the others her daughter had picked out. She wanted so badly to hear what was so special that she could actually hear the Voices of the past.

She tried her hand at luck and swirled two fingers on any of the shells. No hint of magic trace. Freyja began to panic. She darted her eyes back to her daughter to see her furrow her brow. Sigyn held the shell in her lap, delicately tracing the outer hole.

She glanced up. Her face turned melancholically. "That's funny, I don't hear it anymore,"

The Queen inserted a hand around the object. Her pulse reverberated around the porcelain. To her displeasure, it was just an ordinary shell.

"Maybe it's magic has been used up," She thought aloud. Her head cocked to the child, who seemed as sad as one grieving over the loss of a dear friend. "Not all questions are answered. Sometimes you have to listen to your heart as well," Her hand patted hers.

With practice she fabricated for years, she forged a smile. "Now, how about that lesson?"

Sigyn whined, "Mother," She fisted a hand deep in the sand, rooting herself to the beach. The Queen patted the wet sand clumps from her arm. Her maternal instincts was overpowered by her regal authority. Almost instantaneously she let her maternal touch to disappear. She stood up appalled at the lateness she dwelt.

"Come now, child," The sheer sleeves coiled her pale skin like a silkworm and its weave. Her back arched back as she looked down upon the sulking child. "Your Father will be brewing a storm if he finds out you have skipped your lessons," she said shrewdly before feeling the sting of her words bit back in her throat.

Sigyn's eyes cast away. She stood awkward, the bits of sand still clung to her as the tide rolled to her toes. The girl hollowed in comparison to the radiance of the Queen. Even with the tussled sea-brine hair, she held her head high and waist tucked in. She rubbed her nose as the cold nipped it. Rough sand speckled her nose and irritated dry skin.

The Queen held her hand out immediately. It wasn't an invitation; it was a demand. A summon to grip hands and remain at the Queen's side for the rest of the evening. Though the circumstances were unfavorable, Sigyn reminded herself how rare these opportunities had been in the past few weeks.

She loved her Mother as she was the only womanly role model to learn from. But when the Queen's deadly beauty slipped in, Sigyn shrank in size and weakened in child-like ability. Knowing she was under scope, Sigyn flattened stray hairs, brushed off the earth, and held the Queen's dainty hand.

"Fine," she said dejectedly.

The Queen offered a half smile. The Mother in her was pushed out for a moment as she reveled in the time to walk alongside her daughter in their natural environment. But the bitter sweet moment, like all symphonic chords, ended too soon as the darkly halls enveloped them like walking shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

AWOWADD  
Chapter 4: All-Father

The chariots of sun and moon met for the first time in an age. They eclipsed in remembrance; brother and sister embraced for the longest of times. They told of their separate paths, the faces they've seen, and the wonders in the universe. In their good time, fishing villages and campfires were lit up. The amber ashes burnt in the grey atmosphere; congregating past sorrows and retold achievements under the sun and moon's gaze.

Happier times soon faded in the shadowed palace walls. Sentries, with solemn faces, clenched to the darkness. Their ominous eyes watched from afar places of utmost importance. Leering servants crept on the tips of their toes, not wanting to create an echoing nuisance. Sketchy maids gathered along the wall of the Hall of the Deep. Their spidery fingers failed to hear the low hum of footsteps from the daïs. Or the indistinguishable grumble of discontent.

The Queen lounged across her throne, one eyebrow raised and a hand rested on the side of her face. Her pale fingers skimmed over the bronze bracelet clad on her arm. Her dark eyelashes fanned to the floor. The incessant tapping from her husband's staff tightened the tension built in her chest. Her bosom stretched uncomfortably across the metal platting. Her lips pursed in anticipation. Another bout of fire and fairy dust cannoned across the shores. It only thickened the brow of the King. Deer hide drums battered on.

All eyes stared intently at the closed grand doors across the way. The Hall of the Deep echoed the gay festivities from outside. The low hum of the cheers and laughers taunted the King. His displeasure rolled off in him and dispersed out like an even-fall's fog. Such emotion made the windows quiver in his unleashed wrath./p

The smell of burnt roast and embers rose in clouds of smoke. It's appearance could be seen by the rotund opening. The color of charcoal decorated across the skyline, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

Finally, the Queen narrowed her eyes to her clenched husband on his throne. He dropped his fist loudly on the armrest. The cloudiness in his eyes cleared from red to white. The noise receded for the time being.

"Everything will fall into place," She crossed a leg over the other, propping on one side. She stretched lazily as her foot bounced off her leg. She thinned her lips, eyes casted to the doors. "She'll be strong. Like her father," she emphasized, watching his reaction slyly.

He noticeably stiffened. He inclined his head towards his wife. Freyja had the nerve to turn away from him, gaze intent on the door. Almost in mockery. He growled underneath his breath. Vanaheimr let the trident rest in its proper place. The grooves where his fingers were molded to their shape. He snuffed a shaky breath; he closed his eyes trying to stuff his temper away for the time being.

Age did not suit him, nor any Vanir. But somehow he wore it nevertheless. Even his beard dared to whiten at the split ends. Somehow he didn't think his stifling appearance turned his wife away in their bed. She could feel it to. Vain she was, lack of intelligence did not reside in her.

His wife's pretty head put more than a thought to their predicament. She couldn't feel the same divine presence in the Temple like other times. Her faith was shaken. She hid it well, but when it came to the night all godly might vanquished. He didn't need eyes to see his wife's faux shield. It was wielded rather poorly. Whatever vexed her, seemed to have switched on her maternal protectiveness.

Freyja continued gazing at the door, waiting for it. The pounding of the day-night rode on. Her nails clicked against the others. The back of her head hit the back of the throne. The thin layer of metal coronet wrapped around her head, pinched her scalp. She took the pain as she watched her husband rise from his seat.

The thunderous boom of the Bifröst overpowered the villages' ruckus. The sonic aftermath resonated. Freyja jumped out of her seat and made way to the opening. She backed away as she couldn't see anything in the cleared skies, only the smoky haze of the moon eclipsing the sun.

Gravely, Vanaheimr held out a hand as if reaching for something. "It isn't her that I'm so worried about," he said defiantly. The trident slid into his hands and slammed it down to the mosaic daïs. The creepy sound of the double doors opening echoed.

Freyja frantically returned to her position, arms at the ready. The hovering feeling of magic spread across her arms like goosebumps. Before her fingers bent, her King grasped her left forearm in exasperation.

The cauldrons of fire in the entryway wavered. The flame flickered, downsizing.

"They're here," Her words froze on her lips.

The sound of a hundred waves colliding against the rocks boomed. It rocked the hesitant breath of the Queen back into her seat. The wild beatings of her chest pounded under her metal corset. Her back tingled as the pounding of the doors resumed. Her nerves shivered down her spine and fought the urge to show anything beneath her. She swallowed her pride down as she clawed at the iron throne in agony.

Much couldn't be said for the stony king. His eyes perched precariously at the hinges. He willed them to bend in the brackets. Sparks of fire flew as the creaks of the doors oped. Entryways as large as twenty men shoulder length across could fit. If only such armored men could appear before the Storm-King. Vanaheimr shook his staff, airing out the room. The drapes and banners flew in the gust of wind. Even Freyja's majestic hair framing her bosom curled off her in fear. When the thud of doors finally descended, the misty-eyed king blew out a cool breath. The Asgardian King knew no limits as far as the grandiose mesasures. His eye, still as pruned and keen as the day he was made regent, still managed to make the Vanir King looked down upon.

He candidly took in their litter. There wasn't a spot of flesh that hadn't glowed in the gilded light in his halls. They radiated with abnormal grace to the beholder. The King, with every inch of his stature polished like one of his war spears reflected the perfect companion to Gungnir- the Truth Spear. How he glowered at its presence. Truthfully he couldn't decide which companion was worse at the moment.

Then, at his beck and call, the Sky Queen Frigga appeared. Clothed in her home spun cloud linens and diamonds from the heart of dwarvish mountains decorated her jewels. Though up close, warriors and poets regaled her eyes as the most attractive jewel to be sought after. Out of the corner his eye, he saw his wife readjust her choker necklace he gifted her last winter, one eye on the King and the other greening over at his side. Trailing behind them walked two boys of equal age, though opposite in every way. His trained sea warren eyes saw a taller boy, blond like a sun ray, and with every intention to fill out his clothes through sweat and hard training. He puffed his chest and strode like a peacock behind his father. His companion being the younger of the two with raven ink hair smoothed back. His paled face stoned as he reminded the Vanir King of a virgin snow during the solstice. It was obvious both boys resembled there father's mannerisms and aimed to please those with their good name.

They stopped moments away from the dais. Vanaheimr banged the trident to the floor with a thunderous resonation. He opened his arms wide and receiving. He raised them to the sky as if offering his very throne to his prestigious guests. Freyja held her breath as her heart raced./

All-Father Odin and Queen Frigga. I speak on behalf of all Vanirs to welcome you in our hallowed halls," The monarch of the Vanirs chiseled the polite, democratic smile. "And who are these young warriors to be?" He gestured to the two tag alongs, who each bowed in salutations.

Odin cleared his throat. "My sons- Prince Thor and Prince Loki,"

Both boys appeared scrawny, but able enough to start their training soon. It was remarkable how so different boys could be so much like their parents. Thor's flaxen hair was the pride of Frigga as it was delicate and moved with his body's motions. He received the strong brow of his father's ancestors and the curve of his nose. His stance stood slightly lanky but with every firm nerve of that of his father.

Prince Loki, on the other hand, must have gotten his black hair from some Asa on his mother's side. Though a bit peaky, his skin, he still radiated the same tone of precision and beauty like his mother's homemade linens. It was no doubt he learned etiquette from his mother but the ego of his father. The Vanir King leaned away from his scepter.

"A fine pair for Asgard's finest," he acknowledged the strapping princes. "Tell me lads. What do you think of my home?" He waved a hand around the domes above them or perhaps the pillars as long as a dragon's breath. Aside from the rudimentary structure lining to the acoustic dome, there was a richness in serenity with the hues of cerulean and sea foam greens. The mosaic tiles depicting battles strewn from an artist's vision from ages ago, still shone brightly like freshly plucked diamonds.

Loki came prepared as he eyed around him, hands behind his back. He studied. "It is a peaceful place attributed with the brightest intellects on this side of Yggdrasil," Each syllable eloquently dragged out perfectly with no hesitance nor stutter.

His brother cut in, "With an army second to none. Except for Asgard, of course," He saved himself at the last second with some due lag. A creeping blush overpowered his cheeks and his mother gave him a strict glance in his direction.

Freyja giggled as her husband bellowed a hearty laugh. The voices echoed warmly in his Hall. "Headstrong. Just like the King, if I dare overstep," He smiled toothily as the Prince Thor steeled his attempt to smile. He nodded once before beckoning his company forth. "Come, let us gather for in the reception hall and let the lads wander a bit," He waved at them, a sign for dismissal.

Frigga bowed her head graciously. "That is most kind of you, Vanaheimr but I'm afraid they must be-"

The quick scampering could be heard from the boys' sole feet. A gentle creak of the door and no evidence could be seen that two, educated princes of Asgard stepped foot in the halls. From their swift escape, one might think them palace thieves.

Odin brought a hand over his heart letting out a weary laughter. "Wanderers to the very end,"

Frigga remained stressed as she looked upon the floor where they once stood. Now all there was left to do was burn holes into the polished floor and lift a mother's worries. The Vanir King guided his wife over. Freyja let her hand drape over her friend's shoulder. "Have heart, Frigga," she said laughingly. "Let them have a sense of adventure while they're still young,"

Frigga sighed, "That's what I'm afraid of,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Loki didn't bother with his brother's raucous laughter or his thunderous steps in front of him. He rather remain quick and unseen, like a doe's escape from the hunt. His legs carried him so far that he didn't pay attention to the corridors paved ahead. He bumped into his brother's back roughly.

He cradled the side of his head that jabbed Thor's bony shoulder bone. "Thor, where are you going?" he asked pointedly. "Mother and Father wouldn't want us to stray!"

Oblivious to his brother's wise words, he nodded his head left and right wondering which way to go. He would have loved to visit the training facilities in Vanaheim and possibly challenge a few younglings while at it. "Look whose talking!" Thor turned on his heel. "You heard what the Old Fish King said," He chose the left direction

Loki held his breath. "Thor!" It wasn't in Thor's nature to mind his manners. Being the stubborn bull he had grown to be, he let his stature of a prince go to his head. What wrong could a prince do let alone a future King?

Thor punched Loki's arm in a friendly manner. "Lighten up! I just want to have a look at the artillery then I'll be back," He said before running off again despite his younger brother's persistence.

As he watched Thor slap his feet against the chiseled stone floors, he couldn't help but wince as he witnessed his brother nearly running over a bed chamberlain. He pitied his elder brother possessed the same grace as a troll dancing in women's slippers.

He huffed, "Prat. Fine, if he can barge into the armory, I'll have a look around the grounds," With a determined look he choose the opposite divider his brother came across. As he strayed to the right he felt a certain hollow wind wrap around him. It was hot and sticky the closer he neared the corridor's end. A sheen of sweat underneath his tunic was daring to perspire.

But he refused to allow a few moments of climatic change defer his mood. He slipped around the corner like the flick of an eel's tail then proceeded near the castle's rocky walls. He shielded a hand over his eyes as the intensity of the sun glow on him.

When his eyes readjusted he spotted a hidden alcove where stairs lined down to the sandy brine. He etched a smile, looked around for any patrolling guards before sneaking down to the coves.

Iwaldi would have been thrilled to attend one of his boarding meetings about the strives in the kingdom at the moment then here the impending speech no doubt Odin prepared ten celestial eclipses ago. With the cold hand of his wife's holding onto his hand, he consciously made an effort to lend both ears to Odin.

"We all knew this day would come," he said gravely. As if he were sentencing death than procuring security measures. The Hall of Rådet was circular with an arc made of glass panels overlooking the forecast of the seas. The mosaic tiles from before were replaced with the year prior's tapestry Freyja had made. Over his company's heads the Vanir Majesties could remark of their daughter's beauty in threads of gold and intricate swirls in her sapphire blue dress with exquisite pale jewelry borrowed from her dowry chest. The pearls on her neck and earrings draped on her like one of the marble statues he ordered for Freyja's gardens. Though his wife liked her naked sculptures to represent her poise and beauty, Sigyn's posture and the genuine smile melted his heart every time.

"...And you have my deepest regrets for the burden I let you bear, Freyja," Vanaheimr returned from his capture and craned his head to the right.

Freyja heaved a sigh she desperately wished to dramatize just for the King of the Asas but she knew her place and whose side she stood by. Though the girlish, lusty side of her wanted nothing more to relive her gallant days of flaunt and fauna, she reminded herself those times were before she wore a coronet of the finest jewels and had her beloved husband at her side in equivalence. Disappointed she was, she set that aside for her and her daughter's sake.

"She means the world to us. If this must be done... I wouldn't regret anything," Her eyes glistened as she looked at the tapestry once more. The picture of innocence and beauty duplicated to her daughter. Her daughter. No one else's. If anything vain about the Queen was said, she would happily admit her daughter was the most beautiful creation she had the pleasure to bestow to Yggdrasil.

Feeling sympathetic for the Queen in front of her, Frigga lowered her head with heavy heart. She couldn't imagine someone like Freyja allowing her guard to shut down when it came to little Sigyn. At first glance, Freyja was just a pretty thing that happened to shine under Odin's influence. But when that little flirtation ended soon after Odin's nuptials to the Queen, under Frigga's eye, Freyja proved her worth more ten times than any other noble woman she had ever met. She practiced the arts and gained the advantage with her acceptance with the Temple of Hvergelmir. The waters that ebbed around the Temple purified the soul and advanced Freyja's magical abilities.

When she received the priestess hood and cloth, she redeemed herself and proved her willingness to serve independently to Yggdrasil and Valhalla's will. And won the friendship of Iwaldi, as he was known in his days before kingship.

Frigga turned her bejeweled bracelet, cradling it on her lap. She noticed the uncomfortable hesitance from Freyja. "It won't be for an eternity," she reassured. Freyja still held her gaze above their heads to the tapestry, entranced. "She'll be well looked after. The palace of Odin welcomes all who enters its gates,"

The etch of a smile graced the Queen of Vanaheim's lips for diplomatic purposes. But even kind Frigga knew that it was all for naught. After all it wasn't too long ago both Vanaheimr and Freyja were called differently and treated anything but royalty in Asgard.

Noticing the tension, Vanaheimr called for goblets of wine. Strong to the senses and bitter like the frosted winds to the south of their realm. Odin swirled his cold chalice around like a champion toying with his opponents. He sipped at the wine disinterested as he knew his comrade's old tricks. Vanaheimr cleared the phlegm in his throat and called for an attendant to refill his cup.

"What sort of arrangements are to be made, Odin?" he said curtly as the servant sipped at the cup, nodded fervently and delivered the cup to his hands.

Odin pushed the wine away instantly. He shared a glance with Frigga. "She'll train along our sons and the Valkyries in due time," He wished for their approval seeing the Valkyries remained at the highest warrior position. While the Vanir King almost charmed to hear such news, Freyja's mouth dipped down- sour like the grapes in her cup.

Odin continued on with his master plans. "Her rooms will reside next to the royal wing. All the comforts of home from afar,"

Freyja inclined her head to see her husband thin his lip. She held his hand secretly but leaned to her opposite side.

Vanaheimr remembered Asgard when he was in his prime. All metallic and filled with knowledge. It was the city of rich culture and light. However the top of the world didn't reside light in all places. Its halls remained darkened and hollowed with barracks, council chambers, and an obscene amount of vastness. Nothing like the open aired rooms in the Hall of the Deep.

He remained poised, collect. But raveling beneath his pores, worry bottled in him. "You know Vanirs soak the light. We may not bathe in it as the Alfs but it is vital she need not be caged in a palace all day," His brow furrowed.

Odin raised a brow. "I see no reason for that," He gestured to his wife. "My wife has private gardens to entertain herself on stuffy days. I am certain your daughter would find them beneficial to her health," His eyes crinkled as if he were always at ease and not in a hazardous mine ready to set off traps.

Freyja hid the gasp in her chest as she felt pressure in her hand. She dared not interrupt his brewing mood. She diverted his intense staring with her flippant allure.

"I don't know how to thank you, my King. For all you've done and are to do. It's been a wonder how such a little shell like her will open a large destiny," She lazily drew her soured cup to her lips. Like the wine, her lies hid behind her teeth.

He gave a necessary laugh. "I require no thanks on your part. Anything for our friendship and mutual alliance," His eyes dashed away from her momentarily to look at her husband, whose mood only worsened

"If it makes your mind at ease," Frigga intervened. "My sons will protect her as well. They are young boys nonetheless have their best interests at heart," The motherly swell of pride flaunted out of her like a swan embracing the night's warm breath on the lakeshore

Freyja nodded. "It's been difficult for Sigyn," Her eyes darted once to the tapestry. Her fingers on her right hand twitched. "We have sheltered her so much that it discourages the childhood friendships she needs. Her soul is set out for adventure and her spirit will no doubt grow into that in the years to come," A true smile emerged at the edge of the goddess' lips.

But beauty tainted the beast besides her. Vanaheimr shoved off the goblet in his hand and glowered in vain. "May the Spirits allow that adventurous attitude to decay," he grumbled

She sent a squeeze to his hand. "Iwaldi," Her tone froze in her throat as he clapped the armrest loudly.

"No, I am quite serious. It has been and will get her into trouble one day," He marked his words with his index finger pushing against the wooden table. "She pushes her boundaries further each passing year," he noted angrily.

Odin waved it off, almost amused by his friend's sudden bursts of familiar passion. "Nothing more than an inquisitive child. We know that from experience," He tipped the goblet to him in cheers

Vanaheimr cupped his free hand to the trimmings of his beard. Metal claps jangled annoyingly against the others as he pondered. "But allowing her to be adventurous has a price. Adventure turns into mischief and mischief turns into rebellion," His rage turned into desperate weariness. "I do not want to lay my burdens onto you before she leaves this Hall," He offered a hand to his company.

Frigga smoothed a hand across the table. "King Vanaheimr, what harm could a young girl do?" she asked dubiously. Her eyebrows lifted. "It's just a phase, like everything else with children," Her smile dazzled both Kings.

A crush of his wife's hand reminded him his place. "Sigyn won't settle like some coddled fish," He maneuvered his hand with the spin of a fish tail. "She'll resist!" he vowed. His fist curled.

The Sky Queen arched back, slightly appalled. She looked to her husband-king whose penetrating gaze seemed to have accosted the Vanir King. "Then she will be treated as a lady of the court," she assured.

Vanaheimr sighed. Gasping with exasperation, he removed himself from the table. His feet took him around the perimeter of the table to the widening window overlooking the cliffside.

He frowned, palms clasped behind his back. "Even if her behavior miraculously changed, there's still the notion of her well being. If she is to grow up as any Asgardian does..." He cocked his head to the left. "There's still the pressures of her position," he said gravelly.

Frigga held a hand over her heart whilst Freyja dangled a finger around the necklet. Odin-King shrouded behind his wife, fingers dribbling across the wooden surface in lost thoughts. Old haunts and nightmares he stowed away seemed to return from ten eclipses ago.

He voiced his concerns. "You fear, my friend, of the life she'll live in Asgard," He teetered back and forth gently, knowing the mood swings were inevitable. He played with his words like a miner avoiding plausible cave collapses.

Frigga caught on and was relieved. She thought of the worst- behavioral issues, unpredictable mood swings like her father, the vanity of her mother, and the like - but the hand on her heart returned to her lap. She nodded appreciatively as Vanaheimr hunched his back to them, continuing his gaze.

"You're afraid she will love it there more than the memories she has with you," she cooed her words soft like billowing clouds. The King's shoulders released some tension at the Sky Queen's warm concerns.

He sighed once more, this time the weariness he tried to held in seemed to overpower his will. He grasped the back of his wife's ornate seat. "I won't lie and say it hadn't been on my mind of recently," Freyja turned to Iwaldi and cradled his age spotted hand with care. "We swaddled and seen her at her smallest. It will be in Asgard, the memories she will remember the most," His lip dipped down just the tiniest

The Queen Mother took her time to differentiate the two different eye sets in front of her. The storm brewing in Vanaheimr's eyes cleared to a light grey, but speckled with little white sails. Sails of hope. But with every blinking of the eye, they grew bleaker and smaller.

His Queen's eyes, pretty and thrillingly calculating, tamed to a calm blue. She, too, had the lights in her eyes. But they were of a different shape. They moved with the glare from the torches and natural sky light. When her eyes freshened they moved like light houses searching for strayed ships. It both touched and scared the Queen Mother.

ouched, for the sincere mothering and fathering they provided for the child. Not all who have the Fortune of a child bless the Gods and Yggdrasil with the miracle of life. Introspectively, the Queen felt an enormous responsibility land onto-as if the Norns instructed her the last waters in their worlds. One move and all in hand would slip through her dainty fingers.

She wished to do more than comfort and console. If there was a way... But there wasn't. Her ominous husband would have told her otherwise. After all, everything he has done was to protect his family and always had a purpose.

"There will always be a sense of homebound in her," Frigga nodded. "It happens to all lost children. It would be wrong of us to deprive her of her bond to Vanaheim and her family," She held her husband's hand gently. The Queen couldn't imagine the despair or the triflings needed to pass through that both of the monarchs had to endure to secure their child's safety. It would throttle her into a whirlwind of chaos to lose any of her children. Not just to her, but to their loyal subjects in Asgard.

Vanaheimr shrugged his shoulders back. A hand scraped against the shoal designed walls. He tenderly touched them as if they could animately hold emotions for him to reel back. "I won't see her grown up," he said stoically. "I will not be there to see her win her first battle scar. Nor ward off those who ask for her hand," He plumped himself back into his sore seat. The wood creaked at the sudden weight. The rings on his fingers embellishing his right to rule began to depress any desire to lift the appendage from the arm rest.

Frigga said coolly. "These are old worries of all fathers, Vanaheimr. You have nothing to worry about. We're practically family,"

Meanwhile, biding his time, Odin stopped in mid-thought. He pondered his wife's words carefully. Racking inside his brain like a couple of billy goats wanting release from their internal cage, Odin searched with his Eye for a... Well he couldn't recall it enough to think of it a solution. More like... a proposal. An insane, inept one. But if it meant he would have the advantage in their... predicament and of course for the safety above all...

Odin murmured, "A family we are," He itched for his hand to handle the staff Gungnir as it rested at the side of his seat, leaning to its maester. He rubbed his chin as he thought aloud, "And what better way to strengthen that connection then with our own children," His eye looked over to a pale Freyja and a stone faced Vanaheimr.

Gruffly, Vanaheimr said, "All-Father, I am not sending my only child away for the sake of a union. It is for protection," He emphasized with his pointer finger clad with bronzed jewels.

"And who better than a son of Odin," the King of the Asas stated. Freyja nervously to the equally surprised Frigga and then to her King. He offered, "Nothing is to be set in stone now. But, when she is older, Sigyn will have offers to court. I am not her father and can not condone my permission for her," Odin's hand curled around his staff pointed straight up.

The King of the Vanirs looked at the King of the Asas stealthily. Gone was the temper he wore on his sleeve. Instead, his brow quivered in recollection his breath clung to his iron chestplate.

Freyja knew her shell shocked husband would not react in a manner to threaten. She diverted Odin's suspicion. She licked her lips. "To arrange a marriage at their age could be... temperamental," The beautiful goddess chose her words like a healer performing cauterizing on a squirming babe.

Odin turned on her. The golden eagle helmet on top his cloud swept hair darkened his face. "Do you mean to say a Vanir is not worthy of an Asgardian?" he asked, eye alit in fury.

Vanaheimr called for his own trident at his side. It swooshed from the podium platform and caressed his weathered hand. A slam of the end sparking the flooring echoed around the table. Frigga held her breath, unsure whether either god would make their stances become real.

"That is not what is said. My wife meant no foul," Vanaheimr corrected.

Odin relinquished his hunching form over the table and resumed his back to the seat. Frigga ignored Odin's breathing meditate

"Both of our sons are wonderful boys," she said eyes never leaving her husband's weary breath. Her eyes were trained for any sign of the Odinsleep. When she counted backwards mentally she resumed, "There can be no better candidate for your daughter,"

Odin closed his one eye, with a hand over the golden eye path to calm his frantic nerves. Being so near to the sea sent queasy feelings to his mind. "Thor will be King of Asgard one day," He stated the facts, hoping to make sense for all. "Sigyn is your heir and a contender to join the High Priestess at the Temple," Freyja let go of Iwaldi's hand. "There is much to be said about them together," Odin proclaimed.

A stiff air wrapped around both monarchs. Vanaheimr flexed his now free hand over the surface of the table. He leaned himself over the table with an elbow supporting him

He nodded. "Your boy has the markings of a fine King. Both of them," His eyes twitched. "The House of Vanaheimr would be most honored to build an alliance between our Halls," He allowed his words flow with his breath. Even without looking, he could feel his wife's piercing glare. It stung like a hval's fin across tanned flesh.

"You would ask our daughter to marry someone she doesn't know of?" she hissed in low whispers.

Odin renounced his one moment of sickness and directed his words to the cross queen opposite of him. "Our children will spend the remainder of their childhoods together. They wouldn't be strangers for long," Freyja nodded in acknowledgement but lowered her eyes back to Vanaheimr in reprimand. Her hand fiddled once more with the necklet wrapped around her silken skin. A sign she was wounded in pride. She clutched the pretty pearls as if to relieve her her beauty and magic was enough for her.

Vanaheimr set aside his wife's issues as he had to face Odin. Like his old ways, he bowed in forced appraisal to his superior. "You were my mentor once. I have asked you many requests in our time; let this be a favor in return," he relented. His only wish to keep for his own little princess safe had to come with a price, and this was it. If it meant stopping Fimbulwinter, the prelude to the End, he would take the price with him

In respite, he offered a diplomatic handshake across the oaken surface. "I have high hopes for Sigyn and Thor," Odin responded diplomatically with the brotherly shake.

Frigga's mood brightened as the air around them diffused the tension off the angst filled men. Her head turned, nearly blinding Freyja with her diadem of glitterign gold. "Speaking of her, where is she, High Priestess Freya?" she asked cheerfully.

The necklace around her fingers settled in its position as its mistress rearranged her posture. She looked to the long forgotten tapestry as if it would tell her her location. Truthfully Freyja would have only guessed she muddled once more in her own schemes against Frajonora but that wasn't princess behavior to be told in present company.

So with the charm of a dolphin prancing from sea to sea, she twirled her cup of amber liquid and offered the Queen of the Skies a quaint expression. Flippantly she answered, "Sigyn takes care to her studies. Most likely she is in a corner of our bookcases."

Freyja made a mental note to track down Frajonora to find Sigyn with due haste.


	5. Chapter 5

AWOWADD 5

Chapter 5: A Life For a Life

The boy remained firmly away from the baking sand dunes. He enjoyed the callous, cold waters near the bankings. A small cove with pillar sized rock walls guarded the entrance and left a clear skyline of the day-night.

His leather skin boots trampled onto the soaked sand with a loud mushy sound. He winced before scrapping the mixture off a nearby rock stump. He gazed around the sun baked cove. It was cozy and kept. A path of criss crossing rocks floated above the water's surface to the center where larger boulders rose to great lengths. The prince studied the curvature of the rocks, testing for any false bindings with the tips of his shoes. He then proceeded a hopscotch across the surface with careful balance.

Beneath the water, he could see the significant color change. It had a eerie greenish glow with a glow so intense, it nearly doubled the boy over. Curiosity made him want to touch the translucent light. But with reservation, he continued on his path towards the centre.

His light feet found purchase on the rocky surface. He stood in amazement at the monolith pillars. He stared straight up and saw the faint rays of sun and moon colliding. It became too much as a sudden bout of dizziness came on the prince.

Loki shook his head of the fleeting feeling as he grounded himself to his knees. The dizziness only intensified as he closed his eyes. He pressed his hot forehead to the sticky cold rock. It's smooth area couldn't absorb the heat that overwhelmed him. Even the air around him stiffened.

The water wasn't too far off from the centre boulder. Casually he dipped a hand into the cool water with the green lights. Almost like a beacon, the lights swiveled. They hovered beneath his hand and grew brighter. With his free hand he shrouded his dilated eyes.

He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. The lights became brighter but then molded into shapes. They swirled beneath the lights, sometimes blocking the lights. His reflexes weren't as sharp as the flickering of the lights weren't dimming. They came closer and closer...

Apprehensive, he removed his hand from the cool water. Before he could think about the heat or the feeling of sickness, the water splashed vehemently. He gasped as the an unnatural tide rose. It lapped around the rocks. Loki sat up and watched in pure terror as the water violently slapped against the stone. He backed up to the edge of the boulder where his path was nearly swollen with displaced water.

Before he could do anthing- call for help, cast aside his fear to pick up a weapon- a webbed, pale hand darted from the water, locked a grip around his ankle and drug him in forcefully.

Sigyn avoided the guards' search to escape to the sea. She gleefully dug her toes in the sand. She breathed in the shore winds before proceeded to her favorite cove. Nestled in between the wall her father ordered for to be built and the natural sea landscape were the same stone hedges she visited as a child. They represented the furtherest she's ever allowed to scale. That is, at least without an armed precession.

She clung tightly the book she managed to scrap off from the private collections. It would mean extreme consequences should she get caught with this book. The binding was thin but stronger than yew. The etchings swirling up and around in precise details were lined with golden paint. A fresh coat of tanning oil from the hides of wildlife milked the leather shiny.

It was one from the mortals her father and her instructor had told so little about. When she wasn't fulfilling her curiosity's needs, she forged her own path to occupy books of knowledge in the corner of her room on a candle lit night.

She thought, grazing her bare feet across the scathing sand, which reading spot would pique her interests. As she hopped along to the shoreline, hoping the water would cool her burning soles, she heard over the roaring waves an unusual sound.

It was sudden and swift. For a moment she wasn't sure if the sound was a sound at all. The flimsy motion of waves she studied across the shore were lazy and rolling. The ones sounding from the cove, not a mere fifty planks away, were quickening and slapping.

Her eyes rimmed with gold as she shrunk the book to the size of her palm and threw it in to the foldings of her cloak. Her feet scampered to the opening of the cove. She wasn't prepared for anything of the sorts.

Nykrs, large, green sea maidens that clawed for sailors' attention and suckled their desire until they drowned, fought in the cove's waters. They flipped their buoyant fins around the pool. There screeches wailed from above and beneath.

Sigyn readied herself as she dropped her cloak at the sandy entrance. Nykrs were notorious for their competitive natures. They were not as unionized as school pods of hval fish or guppies. Each and every one tore and devoured the other for their predatory needs. Their irascible faces showed no sign of the lovable creatures men found to be alluring. The gills around their neck grew fiercer as their temper flared. The eyes, once charming, turned black as Night's mane and the scales sharpened.

But as the princess tried desperately to shield herself and find the cause of their imprudence of the coral and other aquatic life around them, her eyes narrowed in the whirlpool of collision. A set of hands choked the water, slapping it all around, creating an uproar.

The hands were pale but not the same olive tone as the nykrs. Their screams were coming to a close as two of them ripped at a lone nykr holding the prey. Blood and bits of flesh decorated the pool and the fighting nykrs. Having no power to ease their diligence, Sigyn could see the set of hands accompanied a inky black bob of a head. It moved in and out, between the nykrs and their powerful tails. Now their screams attracted two more of them. They joined into the collision and the prey was stuck at the cornucopia of it.

Sigyn's feet lapped around the wet stones. She searched for something to drive them off. Her fingers scratched over the rough edges of jagged rocks and shrapnel of the monolith pillars. She threw them forcefully at the heads and appendages of the ones showing skin above water. It was futile attempt as they showed no weight in the water.

However, a lone rock smacked the side of a nykr. It bunkered off the side and drew her back into the water momentarily. Then with eyes like a blackened hurricane, the nykr steadied herself and swam back up. Her head barely lifted out of the water before she spotted the small girl. With teeth razor sharp, she hissed at the life form and made intentions to pull her in ankles first.

Sigyn scrambled away from the she-fish. Webbed hands scraped against the rock with white lines following after her clawing finger nails. Instead of hyper ventilating, Sigyn calmed her racing heart. She swiveled her head to another rock, loose and ready to be plunged.

Her forehead strained as she poured every ounce of will into a rock boulder beside her. Easily it could have been lifted by a strong warrior. Small Sigyn tried and tried, as the pressure became too immense. It swallowed her whole as her head rushed. A frightening wet hand gripped her ankle, inches away from gnawing teeth. She let out a scream as she let her self fall into the water, boulder narrowly missing her. The rock weighed down the nykr's left side, dragging her down. Nails pinched her skin in the water before her limb was free. Sigyn's whole body bobbed from the release before she coughed up the water upon breaking surface.

She kicked her feet flippantly, trying to smack the nearest threat. Her salt teared eyes blurred her vision. She bumped into something but upon the skin contact, there was no scales, only the wetness of cloth and leather. Her pale hand grabbed aimlessly for the cloth once more for some buoyancy.

Either it was a torn piece of the boy of his clothing, she knew not. Her eyes blinked away as her coughing became eradicate. The stress and the screeches of the horrid creatures around her were too much. With a single greedy gulp of air she hoisted herself as far out of the water as her body willed and liquified all the magic within in out of her.

Sound resonated and spoke volumes to the nykrs who became stunned. Shockwaves, broken and ringing in their ears confused them. There maddening whimpers resulted them to grab the nearest captive and swim to the depths. In a rush the nykrs pulled broken limbs of their defeated sisters or ripped away from their captors grasp. One or two made attempt to capture the two children.

But the echoes of Sigyn allowed the water to defy gravity and cocoon them- like a protective wall. Underwater gurgles were made as they fled but not without flipping their tails off. The cocoon of water swirled like a tsunami within their fury. Water filtered above and in them as they reached enviously for the surface.

With the struggle of their lungs allowing water in, one broke their surface with the other in tow.

Water dripped from his soaked clothes. The emerald vest he wore darkened like black obsidian steaming from its callous mixture of lava and water. She couldn't tell any color on him as his pale skin blanched and puckered a light pink from the nykrs hold on him. Their suction on him was tight enough to cause little claw marks on his hands and neck.

She coughed up the remaining foul water trapped behind her throat before attending the boy she saved. Her eyes trailed to anything he could strip out of. She worked thoroughly as he was coming to. His eyes lolled back. Sigyn neglected the shoes and outer vest.

Then she preceded to pump air back into his chest, rolling him over to his side and allowing the drainage to filter out. She rubbed the sand off her hands and continued to pump. Her skirts were clinging to her form annoyingly. She didn't bother to call for help as her throat was scratchy and screaming for air itself.

Then the boy started to come to. Her eyes sighed in relief as the boy opened up his dark eyes. His pupils dilated from the sun's intensity and she knew he was panicking. His breath quickened and he coughed rapidly as his shock pulled him conscious.

She shuffled to the side, waiting for the thrashing to begin. His arms wriggled as he cradled his face and sore neck. He groaned as he attempted to override motor controls. He managed to keep his panics down though he switched his head in different directions. He swerved to and fro as his dizziness set in. Sigyn backed off as her heart pumped.

The boy's eyes were strained red and showed signs of trauma around his salt-encrusted lips and chin. He straddled his hands on each side of his head and slowly sat up. Some sand clusters on his wet hands stuck here and there on his cheek. He ignored the scratchy grains as he hissed back a groan. His breath hitched when he finally realized he wasn't alone. Thinking it was one of the nykrs he grabbed clumps of sand at the ready.

Sigyn screamed a little in surprise. Both children, wet and scared out of their wits, took a long moment to gather their senses. Sigyn held her hands up in surrender and peace. She took it as a good sign as he swallowed the gulp of greedy air wanting to infiltrate his lungs. His color peaked a bit, but he was still so pale.

Calmly, she made a small crawl nearer to the boy, who relinquished his hold of the sand clumps. "Are you alright?" she asked him. Her hair, all tangled and stringy, clung to the back of her gown.

The boy's face scrunched in confusion. His lips parted once then smacked back into bitter remorse. He held a hand for her to remain where she was despite her moves toward him.

The boy narrowed his eyes and stood up arrogantly. He picked up the scattered remains of his pride and looked at the equally soaked creature before him.

Whoever it was clearly had taken no precautions of their dressing attire as it was soaked to the bone. The lanky fellow was far too helpless on his own, shivering and fiddling with the garments. Especially the dark cloak now surrounding him. The lump of wet fabric and fur matted down the tuffs of braided hair. When he recalled a voice, he remembered it high pitched.

Unbeknownst to the prince, the same lanky fellow shivering behind the dark cloak was the royalty his family sought for. Sigyn mirrored his movements.

"Does it look like I'm alright?" he said angrily. His eyes moved wildly across the arena watching for anything to dare threaten his stance. When he couldn't find anything that could remotely explain his predicament, he turned around to the girl, who was soaked to the brim like he was. He held a finger pointed to her. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Sigyn took a step back, wet hair clung to her equally watered shoulders. His panic state was over but he remained diligent in his mind that she was the Nykr or the reason for the attack.

Unbelievingly she asked, "Excuse me?"

The boy shook his head, scrubbing away some of the water stinging his ears. He squared his shoulders.

"Are you daft?" he asked snootily.

Instead of cowering at his new tone, the princess rolled her eyes and wrung out the water in her drenched hair and skirts. The hood turned up due to a sudden wind draft. Her face with some feminine features remained out of sight. Even so, the haughty boy rummaged after the state of his attire than her presence. Nevertheless the boy watched her from the corner of his eye as she ignored his interrogation.

She laced back the straps to her belt and studded sandals, feeling the intense stare from the standing boy.

She huffed as he waited impatiently. "I don't think it's any of your business to know all about me when you were the one foolish enough to touch the Nykr pool," She smirked as she couldn't control her impending laughter.

The boy laughed at her impetuous nature. Then his laughter stopped coldly. He raised his chin up, eyes glowering at her. He remained loose like a cobra ready for the killing strike.

He enunciated every syllable to emphasize his demeanor. "Who do you think you are, talking to a Prince of Asgard like that?" His arms rested at his side, clenched.

Semi-dry she strode in front of him, eye to eye. She wasn't intimidated by his premature snarls or the stagnant threats he uttered.

"I saved your life," she said lowly. In a short tiff she added, "I don't need to compensate who I am,"

The supposed boy prince released his intense gaze. He seemed at a lost. The breeze from the north returned, gnawing at the hood. It peeled it back and she was caught mid-pull of her ratty blond hair. She feverishly started to undo and redo sections of the braid. How she would have loved to see that smirk of his lower if it weren't for a troublesome knot.

He pointed crudely. "B-but you're a girl!"

She sat down on her heels, tugging her skirts down with her. She grumbled grouchily, "Would you rather I left you in with the Nykrs?" Looking up at him, she never would have thought a boy could pale so much as he did. It gave new definition to shell white. Seeing as her provocation caused him to reopen terror, she narrowed her eyes at his feet and then once to the side where the nykr pools looked enticing to dip in. "Nevermind,"

She made way to leave him and gods to hope to sneak back in the palace dry when the boy called her back.

"Wait!" She stopped but didn't make any move to turn her head. She listened to the softness of the silence. She expected an order of some kind to escape his mouth, not words of repent. "I'm sorry," he said first softly, then grew louder. "You were just being a good person and help me. I shouldn't have jumped at you like that,"

Sigyn readjusted the cloak around her shoulders as she gaped at him in astonishment. His face was like one of the children playing in the kitchens that she watched from a distance. He looked as if he stolen a loaf a bread, guilty and wanting to confess. "Honestly!"

The girl stepped forward, much closer to him than she allowed herself to be at. Her eyes furrowed as she watched intently at his actions. He bit his lip but showed no sign of trickery.

"How can I trust you?" she asked twisting her mouth into feign. "You could be a lie-smith for all I know," Her accusations weren't above her powers. His face construed a mixture of frustration and a sense of calm overcoming him. He sighed deeply and looked around at his surroundings. He shamed his head down as the girl studied his eyes.

He sighed deeply, knowing this girl's trust wouldn't so easily be won. "My name is Loki Odinson. I'm here on visit with my family," he spilt like it was a deep dark secret he held in for so long. In truth, she was surprised. She had saved a boy from outside her people.

Instead of a shock running through her like any other person, the prince noticed her stature remain tall and proud- not like any of the kneeling serfs that crossed his path.

"You're from Asgard?" she asked almost immediately. It threw the boy into confusion. Almost like he had forgotten where he had come from. Shouldn't that be an unnecessary question? His mouth opened like that of a mindless fish. "As in, outside of the realm?"

"Yes?" he answered unsurely, pursing his lips.

Sigyn broke out into a smile. Whatever reservations she held against his arrogance went with the wind as she questioned him excitedly. "What's it like? Asgard?" She nodded her head.

The prince of Asgard's hair fell in black slicks. He removed a hand to wipe some of the dripping water fall far from his chapped lips. Puckered, he smoothed down his damp tunic. He braced his most tender arm with the other from the pain the Nykrs inflicted on him.

He eyed the girl who awaited his answer. He rolled a smile. "Like a golden fantasy. Full of majesty and bravery," His eyes glazed over. Loki was welcomed with images of Asgard, in all its bounty and beauty. It was second to none and held an air of grace that can't be attained. How he wished to be enthralled by the latest book shipments, pouring his eyes over the written scrolls right now. The dry scent of paper was almost imagined. As are the smoky cloud of dust when he perused a certain tome. A sniffle from his nose broke his train of intense thought.

Her eyes crinkled as her braid flipped to her back. "Sounds like an adventure!" She held out a sandy hand out in front of her. "My name's Sigyn. Sigyn Vanaheimdóttir,"

The Asgardian prince would have rather dipped himself back into the Nykr pool than face the golden face in front of him. He could see clearly, like a cloud sweeping away the fog, the same misty eyes as the Fisher King. Her stance was proud even in the weak sand. Though young and with every trait bestowed upon her from the King, her inner self embraced a child-like attitude. So free and wild, that it was unimaginable the girl in front of him belonged to the king of the realm.

He kneeled down abruptly. He bowed his head down, eyes quivering to the young girl.

"You're the princess. Forgive me, Your Highness. I-I did not know it was you," He regained some control of his pride long enough to spit out words of mercy.

She stepped forward and kneeled in front of him. The prince gulped visibly as she came closer. "Why are you kneeling?" she whispered to him.

He lifted his head a bit more, straining the back of his neck. He was thankful the nykrs' claws didn't reach the sensitive skin on his neck. His breath coiled around their faces. Her eyes blinked in curiosity.

"I have wronged you," His eyes widened as she stood up.

She cocked her head to the side, eyebrows knitted. "But you're a Prince. A Prince doesn't kneel," She stated casually, as if his response was something completely foreign.

Loki limited his vision to his feet and the sticky sand underneath them. He waited with bated breath for respite , a threat of telling his father of the events that transpired. "I've insulted you and treated poorly after you kindly saved me from drowning,"

Sigyn shrugged her shoulders. "So? You didn't know who I was. Why should I be treated any different than someone who wasn't me?" she said casually.

Loki's lip thinned. He was caught in his own twisted web. Though amiable, he cursed the girl who seemed to outwit him even at his lowest point. He rose without a second thought and gazed at her curiously.

His eyes searched for some sort of deception- a curl of malice or a smirk that he often wore on his mischievous days. "Got me there,"

She brushed the sand off the edges of the cloak that trailed along wet sand. "If you wanted to swim, I suggest the Mirth pools," she said pointedly. Off not to far behind him was a set of rocks in a crescent shape facing towards the tide. It had no eerie green glow nor the call of Sirens. "They are shallow and hold barely any crustaceans," she explained.

The young prince darted his eyes away from the receding tide. He squared his shoulders and mentally scolded himself for lack of posture. HIs back cringed from the ruffling of drying clothes but he coped.

"I believe I'm through with my appetite for waters at the moment. If you could show me the way back, I should return to my Father," Ever the dutiful prince inclined his head at her in respect.

Sigyn nodded as her flamboyant tresses bounced in unison. "Yes," She made a half a step before realization shook her to the core. "Hold on," she said feverishly searching for something hidden within the fabric draped along her person.

She found immediate relief wash over her as her small hands enclosed around a magically concealed leather bound book. It's binding was slightly squashed but nothing a paperweight couldn't have fixed. The sheer size of the book was enough to lift weights but to the princess she carried it like a light rose. "Couldn't leave without it. Father would have my head should I bring another water-logged book," Memories passed over the princess as she remembered her reprimand all too recently.

If Loki had an inkling of his brother's brutish nature he would turn his nose up at the book. But the curiouser side of him, being a boy of luck and chance, brought his full attention towards the interested girl. She held the book in front of her delicately, almost enamored with the tome.

His eyes caught the runic title. "The Prose Edda. You read?" he stated eyes widening at the extraordinary rarity of otherworldly knowledge.

Sigyn's eyes alit. She never found a companion her age with interest in academics. She relished this sliver of an opportunity. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Her pearly white teeth peeped behind her lips.

Loki, ever the once firm and hesitant to new surroundings, itched to pour out all his hidden nights of sneaking into the library coiled into an armchair and swallowed into a book until the break of dawn. But, the little resistance that shaped him into the prince in training, he urged the feeling to dissipate.

"Pardon me," he started out politely. "It's just I'm the only one in the library at odd hours out of my family. It's below my brother's character to spend time in anything other than in the training field," He wrapped his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

Sigyn loosened her mouth. "That's sad," Loki seemed taken back at her sympathy. Her eyes widened at the misinterpretation. The wave of her hand and the cringing of self reprimand. "Oh no, not that you spend your time in the library- that's admirable. Your brother doesn't like to read?" He nodded.

Not realizing proper manners, he let slip his silver tongue. "Yeah. He thinks it abnormal," If anyone would have overheard the prince gossiping as he was now, it would have been a strict telling and forbiddance to the library for an untold age.

Sigyn laughed merrily. "Then he's the abnormal one. Reading is the foundation of learning,"

A dip of a smile turned Loki from mannered prince to a regular boy. "Exactly," he said. "He doesn't see things eye to eye. Doesn't help he's a little bit taller- only a little bit, mind you." He waggled a finger in front of her, showing her whose dominant. He turned his eyes back the enchanted subject. "Do you only find interest in Midgardian literature?" he asked curiously.

Sigyn bit her lip and clutched the tale to her chest. "Well, it's not on my curriculum. I discovered a mentioning of it through one of my lessons and started to investigate on my own," Her shoulders shrugged out of habit. "It's remarkable how they remember stories of the universe, catalogue them, but don't believe in them," She became lost in her words with the incense of old paper and inked words.

Loki reached a hand out towards the book. She gave it to him to flip through. A sort of light exuberant from his eyes. She imagined it was the same light she had when she browsed the stocks.

He curled a finger around the edges, treating each piece like pure gold from the Nether Realms. "If you like to read the obscure, you would love the library in Asgard. It's extensive to every genre and subject every recorded. I could get lost in there for hours," He smiled.

Sigyn's smile faded. The sounds of the sea overlapped the immediate silence. Her arm cradled the other in sorrow. "I'm sure I would love to visit there one day," she wished.

Loki stopped his leafing through to gaze back at the princess. She fiddled with her hair once before plopping herself down on the drying sand. "Why not?" he said taking a place right beside her.

"I can't," Her eyes gazed hopelessly to the shoreline. "I'm bound here for duty. I'm a princess, not a traveller," Her fingers barely traced the surface of the beach.

He scratched the back of his neck with one hand and then the book with the other. "Maybe..." His eyes remained filled with a listless hope. "I could sneak you out. I've been practicing some cloaking spells-"

Her ears turned in the direction of spells. She interrupted, "You practice magic?"

The Asgardian knew not what to recover his tracks. Magic was not as welcomed as other practices. It was considered rare and lost in most. Those that still did are leery or worked under the catacombs from the King in the happenstance of such an occasion.

Loki held a hand out in between them, wandering if she too would disgrace the practice of magic. "I know what you're thinking. It's not a practice worth keeping,"

She shook her head. "No. It's as common to use it here or anywhere else in the Nine Realms," Sigyn gestured to the air around her.

Loki's surprise to the casual conversation between the two was remarkable. "Really?" he asked wearily. He didn't know the extent of her opinion. He looked for a reason out in the case the princess thought it was dangerous. "Mother always warned me not to rely on my talents. That I should broaden my physique as well as my mind,"

Sigyn stated, "She's a smart lady,"

Of everyone the prince knew, it was his mother that would never forsaken him. He was as much as the eye of his mother as Thor was to his father. The Queen was kind and looked to others as equals, not as subjugations. One day when he ruled, he wished to learn from the best- the shining moments of his mother.

"She is," he smiled lovingly. "I covet it as much as I can. Not everyone is fond of it," His eyes shifted as if he expected Thor to spook him or a guard to turn him in during one of his practical jokes.

The princess sat on her heels and grabbed the book back to show him specific pages. Their eyes wandered in joy at the drawings and ancient markings of yore. "Well I happen to find it inspiring. It's a beacon, a warmth for all who seeks it's protection and good will,"

Loki knitted his eyebrows in fascination. "I never thought about it that way," He digested this news.

She giggled toothily before she stood up, book in tow. "Come," She reached for his hand. "Your family must be worried about you," He took her offering and together they ran across the sands, avoiding the shadows of passing sentries on patrol.

Vanaheimr ordered for the lights to be kindled, burning brighter in the Hall of the Deep. The lanterns burned the ceilings color bronze and then brazened to a deeper brown as it was further away from the light. Whilst kings mumbled over old tales too foolish to remember of their younger years, the queens remained at the steps to the dais.

Freyja, ever vigilant, ever scared, paced to and fro. One of those nasty habits she had picked from her husband surely. Frigga watched patiently as her fellow friend wore out the mosaic steps with cause. Of course she was worried for her only child. The only one she would ever hold and call her own. Frigga remembered once a time she too felt the same. A mother's duty was never finished though as times it seems like time had finished it for her.

"Stop worrying, dear Freyja. I'm sure by now the guards have found them," she said calmly, embracing a smile on her face. Freyja broadened her bare shoulders and fixated her nervous antics to the tiny wrinkles she caused the red care held to the straps of the bodice. She fingered the ring made of precious metals too honorable to mention as she gazed at her husband from the steps. His look transcended away from the words of Odin's tales to the frown on his wife's face. He looked away and paid attention to his commander.

She answered to the queen, "It's not out of the norm for her to wander, Frigga," Her hand patted her side. "She's drawn to the elements as I once was," A trickle of a smile enveloped her at once. As she swished and turned at the different movements in the room, she felt the heat of the light gaze below her collar.

The light reflected onto the enchanted ruby necklace. Its teardrop shape gave the essence of a deep red blood color. Its rich design with other circles of studded rubies lines upwards on the curve of the necklace but none availed the quality of the largest and deepest teardrop in the center. It was said Vanaheimr bought the employment of four dwarves, Dwalin, Alfrik, Berling, and Greir to forge a necklace so that in the hallowed days of Raganrök, she would be forever protected by other's undoing.

She clasped it in remembrance. It was a wedding gift that was bestowed after the nuptials, a token of his loyalty and hers as well. Since that day forth she never turned an eye onto another man or King in that respect for her husband would grow to love.

She smiled internally. Nothing could have made her more at ease, more safe than the protection the necklace endowed. Even if the room were armed with fifty thousand of the dead reclaiming stolen lives, she would always feel the calloused hands that clasped the necklace on her neck and the love her gave her and only to her.

Freyja found conviction as her hope enlightened in her smile. Across from her the Sky Queen held her palm up, a symbol of good friendship and console.

She said, "Then have good faith." Frigga returned the smile. The clanging of the bolted doors groaned in pressure. "See, that must be them,"

As the kings stopped their muddling of old subjects, Freyja noticed the quivering of a flame rested on a wall mantle. It nearly snuffed at the wind of the opening double doors. Then Freyja screwed her head straight and realized whatever spell that enchanted her fears away, soon quivered like that of the flame. Her face fell in crestfallen.

She'd rather face an undead army than face whatever held behind those doors.

They scurried in like water logged rats, clinging to each other when a guard passed them. The little puddles in their covered soles squished and clicked against the marble flooring. Loki advised more than once in silent code to stick near the walls in between shifts. As they proceeded, the thrill of becoming caught enticed Sigyn. Her giggles beneath her chest were ready to implode for the suspense if it weren't for the semi-serious expression on the prince's face.

He concentrated his way back. He counted the number of wall decorations of coral lights on the way to. Numbers persisted in chanting in his mind, and itching to be counted on his fingers.

Sigyn looked in fascination. His cold, calculating eyes weighed risk and venture with every turn. Though her eyes could have been blinded and her ears muffled she would have known every cool breeze near the entrance ways, every stifling narrowed antechamber in the palace. But in her new companionship, every single thing he had done only intrigued the different possibilities: how to avoid certain guards, the merest pit-pattering on certain stones. Within his brief introduction he seemed to adapt his surroundings with the slightest of glances.

The princess pulled the prince under the arm as his books nearly squeaked their location.

"Come," she whispered. She gestured to the other side of the hall, rounding the pillars and creeping away from the looming shadows the torches burned into the opposing wall. "This way-" The princess became muffled as the prince tried to grab her back when a lanky body knocked into her around the bend.

She righted herself before taking a proper look at the boy in similar dressings as the prince. "Excuse us, we did not see you," She curtsied, hoping the boy's temper did not turn on a coin.

The boy, cloaked in a lengthy blue tunic and leather breeches with the royal stitchings, rubbed the goose egg on his forehead from her whiplash. He recovered, "That's alright. No harm," He stole attention to the lanky boy hiding behind her. Grinning, he cried jovially, "Ah, brother, there you are! The guards have been searching for us,"

Loki shuffled his feet around consciously. "I know. I was distracted," His eyes engaged with his brother, who thought nothing of his shifty behavior. His companion internally sighed that the other prince was oblivious to their unusual activities.

Thor nodded to the princess, who began to nervously place a stray hair back into the braid. "Who is she?"

Loki introduced with some permissive acknowledgement from her, "This is Sigyn, princess of her realm. Princess, this is my elder brother, Thor," He gestured to the proud, stagnant brother across from him.

She embraced his forearm, which caught him off guard. Her small hand completed the traditional greeting between warriors. "Just call me Sigyn," she said offhandedly.

"Call me Thor," he said. He let go of the arm embrace and bowed three quarters down. He returned to his stance only to find a snickering Loki and curious Sigyn.

She cocked her head. "Okay?"

There wasn't a moment for curiosity for Sigyn's sake. As she oped her mouth, her voice was replaced with one frantic nursemaid.

"Children! Thank the Norns you have returned!" The quickly steps of Frajonora pitter-pattered down the corridors until she towered over Sigyn, fretting over her appearance and reveling in the princes' presence. As she groomed the young mistress' hair, she corralled them back to the front entrance without much choice. "Your parents have been worried sick looking for you! Quickly,"

She ushered the young men who knew protocol of entering. They stood side by side as the hall opened in sight. Before Sigyn had half a mind to joing by their sides, Frajonora grasped her hand tightly. "Not you, young missy. You shall hold my hand," she lectured.

Sigyn sighed. If only she held the outtake of breath, then she might have lived longer to see something other than disappointment from her King and Queen.


	6. Chapter 6

AWOWADD 6

Chapter 6: Strained Road

A darkness loomed over the three as they followed the gilded paths to the centre. The kings and queens of old stood still and motionless as if they turned to garden stones. Not an inkling was murmured under their breaths. The pitter patter of their feet seemed small, meek in comparison to the giants standing in front of them. The pillars enclosed the wide space with each footstep.

Kneeling in front of royalty, the boys hung their heads low. Odin King looked down upon them, searching his one eye for any telltale signs of their mischievous works.

"Thor. Loki," he addressed them accordingly. The princes lifted their heads, standing tall.

They bowed their heads once more. "Father," they chorused softly. They sauntered back a step. Sigyn knelt in front of the Kings, eyes staring straight at them. The clear eye staring right back curled her soul to shrink back further in its soul. Realizing her moment of embarrassment, she gazed at the mosaic. Her heart pounded much like those to the ones called to battle. Her thoughts raced about how dreadful her appearance could be- hair all ratty from the wind, dress crinkled and stained from mossy rocks, and the gritty feeling of dusted sand painted her dried face.

Sigyn could feel the curious looks bearing into her body, like tiny pricks of the sewing needle threading all her mistakes and ignorance. She felt the heat from her mother's disappointment that burnt even brighter than the One-Eyed King.

The rumble of the ocean's placations consumed her thoughts. Once, it was said that the hollowed halls of Vanaheim were beneath the sea. Its waves and salty shores shaped the arches, curved out secret passages and preserved its pearly structure. Then with the break of a her father's back and the strength of a thousand legions, he alone carried it from its oyster, berthing it to port. At times, she felt her father's story live on within in- feeling the weight of the castle bear onto her shoulders, searching for its master's heir. An implicant reminder of how far much she had to achieve, and how far she was from continuing his legacy.

Frigga saw the heaviness in the child's face. She saw how disorganized her the children appeared. So much unseen had passed and it all flew onto her shoulders. Pitiful, she knew her sons had some finger mark on this work. Though they be guests, it certainly did not call for improper state of affairs.

"Boys," her voice silenced the unspoken words of the few. "It seems you have met Her Highness," She stepped in tow with her husband.

The boys all but put their tails between their legs in front of their mother. Thor's shaggy hair gave him the advantage to hide the red in his cheeks whilst his brother did not. Frigga remained in front of them, a hand on both of their shoulders. Thor knew not to push his mother's grace. Especially when that grace wore thin when it came to their trouble making.

Whilst Frigga diverted her disappointment towards her boys, The Fisher King had no other choice but heave a sigh. His trident rang his forthcoming.

"Sigyn," he bellowed half-heartedly.

Sigyn renounced her position. A hand wrapped around the stay away hairs to the side with the rest of the braid. "Yes, Father," she said blinking away the tears she refused to admit.

Without proper gestures, he introduced, "This is Odin All-Father and his Queen, Frigga," The Asgardians acknowledged with a slight of the head. Vanaheimr stared past the Hall of the Deep, its wall and the people entire of it. He gazed offhandedly. The King licked the thing layer of wrinkled lips. "He has come for you,"

"For me?" She tilted her end. Innocence washed over her childish face.

Frigga's warm smile directed her fears away. She stepped lightly across the floor-boards.

"The King has kindly accepted you to stay in Asgard for the time being," she informed.

Sigyn's eyes darted from the Queen's to her lifeless mother's. They remained cold, without flow in them. Dilation prevented them from showing her clear irises.

"But why?"

Freyja sent herself away from her child. The heaviness beneath her breasts unsettled her nerves. She lowered her head ever the slightest, eyes blurring out Sigyn's form.

Frigga smile pitifully deepened. With every encouragement a mother possesses, she wore her warrior face painted behind those loaded lashes. "It is not safe for you here. Summer progress has ended. Winter will be on our shoes soon," she said.

Sigyn furrowed her eyebrows. "But I've endured our winters before. Why now?"

She did not expect her father's voluminous voice sound vehemently.

"For your safety," His voice croaked as if a thousand burdens landed.

From behind the lost girl, both boys shuffled their feet, eyes posted dead straight past. Stirred emotions surfaced like a bubbling pot of stew. The prince, Loki, could feel lost senses in his new companion. Her eyes dazed at the elders like an orphaned doe struggling to evade her captors. He steeled his eyes away from Thor's curious mind looking onward to the girl's demise.

Whispering words coiled around the thick air. Her irises thickened like the darkly woods in Alfheim. "You'll be coming with us, right Mother?"

Thin lips graced the Queen's mouth. Her coarse words stung like sea-salted rope burning against open flesh. With every clench of her heart begging for penance, the Queen's cold eyes locked onto the tiny frame of the child.

"My place is with the other priestesses," she said stoically.

Sigyn's hands cradled together, not knowing what else to do. She itched to wrap herself up in a bear skin blanket. The coldness in the air chiseled the nape of her neck and the remaining water logging her shoes curled around the warmth of her toes.

"But... who will come with me?" She looked to her graying father, caving his back forward. His frame half in darkness, half in the light. "Father? Frajonora?" Her head turned to each individual. Small lights appeared in those irises before she squandered them out with the elders' grimace.

"You must make the journey by yourself. With the King's family," The Queen of Asas stepped to, spreading a small smile. Hope washed out of Sigyn's vocabulary. "They will watch over you until it is safe for your return,"

Return. The bitterness settled in her mouth as if cotton was swabbed against her tongue. Her mind ran away from the palace, away from the shores, to the smoke driven villages by the cliff sides. Crags surrounded the outer rims, so deep that a single pebble could break the neck with the right amount of force. Grass as tall as her knee brushed against her legs. The wind wrapped around her freed hair, freeing her senses and alerting her body to press on. Dark clouds loomed over her. The lightning grew louder; her steps faltered.

She couldn't move another inch further to the gates. Barred from entrance, she didn't need eyes to look behind her in order to see the beasts snarling after her tracks. Claws shaped the shadows and drug her into the earth, falling... falling.

She never quite liked falling. The sensation in her blood lingered just a little more, then it was snuffed like a candle.

Autonomously she asked, "How long?"

"As long as it takes," Vanaheimr answered. A slight quiver in his lip faltered.

Her feet stoned to the floor. Her little heart barely could be heard anymore to her own ears. "When do I leave?"

This time, Odin King came forth. He brought at his side, his everlasting staff, forged as his mistress in all things. It gleamed like the scales of a golden dragon and never cracked under foreign weaponry.

His shining eye peered through her eyes, attempting to connect with her. "Whenever you're ready," The calm in his voice soothed her nerves. However they were laced with a certain warmth and security she had never known. Though he appeared old and had hair as white as snow, his strength was in his one good eye and the firm grip on his staff.

Iwaldi stood across his hall, looming over his balcony. The composited affair dispatched his body away. He shunned the stiff atmosphere in hopes for a cleared conscience. The sea gave him breath; his wispy returns blew at his cold face.

A resonant noise grew in the far rings of his abode. An aurora of colors eradicated the bleak sky. They expanded diagonally, shapes and sizes incompressible. His grasp on his trident seemed foreign and almost too hot to bear. The sky contracted, loose traces of what had been imprinted in his eyes.

Jeweled digits embraced his cloaked shoulder. The air seemed frigid but his wife's comfort gave him resolution. He engulfed his opposing hand over hers as they watched the unchanging skies, wishing, wandering.

"Pray to Hvergelmir," his crusted voice called. He needed no eyes to feel his wife's head nod ever so slightly in recognition. The pads on her fingers lightly pressed him. The gentle touch brought back unfamiliarity. It hardened his nerves.

He turned at his heel, nearly frightening the woman. Under his gaze, the King of Vanirs inspected for sign of betrayal. Her eyes along with the rest of her perfumed face became like a decoration attached to him. The oils to coif her hair, the beads embezzled clinging to her ears- Then he furrowed his eyes upon her neck. Pale and perfect white, the lines contouring her neck enticed him. He once remembered such skin in his prime days, with her at his side in an alcove surrounded by their own heat. How the light reflected at the bare flesh and he became enamored with the delicate way her skin glowed in midnight hours.

Now it was once more bare for him to seduce his mind. If it were another time, another era he would have reveled back those long past memories. The skin, still as soft as snow upon his fingers, seemed too bright.

Freyja's anxiety was noticeable as her jawline quivered under his touch. Her devotion laid only to him, when his hand no longer restrained his mistress tool. Even now as he caressed the trident, she longed for the youth in his hands to reciprocate onto her.

Iwaldi cracked his gaze and retracted his fingers. Instead, he turned his back at her and slapped a hand onto the balcony. Inclining his head to the skies that cannot be moved, he squinted his salty eyes. He rested his staff by the wall. "She will need it. Brísingamen,"

Freyja clasped her hands over her mouth as she let out a feminine cry. She closed her eyes and inched away from her husband. Her chest heaved with the urge to bawl fifty thousand tears into the sea. As they would land they would curl into the sand of oysters becoming bejeweled treasures for mongers and pirates to devour each other over for.

For the first time since the moment of Sigyn's awakened fate, husband and wife relinquished their decorations away and shared a farewell outside their halls where relishing eyes whispered haphazardly over dangerous secrets.


End file.
